presented  to  the 
UNIVERSITY  LIBRARY 
UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA 
SAN  DIEGO 

£>' 

Mr.  Armistead  B.  Carter 


P5 
35-03. 


\ 


\0 


THE 

NINTH  VIBRATION 

AND  OTHER  STORIES 


BY 

L.  ADAMS  BECK 


NEW  YORK 

DODD,  MEAD  AND  COMPANY 
1922 


COPYRIGHT,  1922 
BY  DODD,  MEAD  AND  COMPANY,  INC. 


FEINTED    IN    U.    S.    A. 


I  desire  to  thank  the  Editors  of  The 
Atlantic  Monthly,  Asia,  and  the  Japanese 
Grassho,  in  which  periodicals  most  of 
these  stories  have  appeared,  for  their 
kindly  interest  in  their  publication  in 
book  form. 

L.  ADAMS  BECK, 
CANADA. 


CONTENTS 

PAGE 

THE  NINTH  VIBRATION 3 

THE   INTERPRETER 73 

A  ROMANCE  OF  THE  EAST 

THE  INCOMPARABLE  LADY 173 

A  STORY  OF  CHINA 
WITH  A  MORAL 

THE  HATRED  OF  THE  QUEEN 191 

A  STORY  OF  BURMA 

FIRE  OF  BEAUTY 227 

THE  BUILDING  OF  THE  TAJ  MAHAL 257 

"How  GREAT  is  THE  GLORY  OF  KWANNON!"  .     .  273 

"THE  ROUND-FACED  BEAUTY"  .  293 


THE  NINTH  VIBRATION 


THE  NINTH  VIBRATION 

THERE  is  a  place  uplifted  nine  thousand  feet 
in  purest  air  where  one  of  the  most  ancient 
tracks  in  the  world  runs  from  India  into 
Tibet.  It  leaves  Simla  of  the  Imperial  councils  by 
a  stately  road;  it  passes  beyond,  but  now  narrowing, 
climbing  higher  beside  the  khuds  or  steep  drops  to 
the  precipitous  valleys  beneath,  and  the  rumor  of 
Simla  grows  distant  and  the  way  is  quiet,  for,  owing 
to  the  danger  of  driving  horses  above  the  khuds, 
such  baggage  as  you  own  must  be  carried  by  coolies, 
and  you  yourself  must  either  ride  on  horseback  or 
in  the  little  horseless  carriage  of  the  Orient,  here 
drawn  and  pushed  by  four  men.  And  presently  the 
deodars  darken  the  way  with  a  solemn  presence, 
for — 

These  are  the  Friars  of  the  wood, 
The  Brethren  of  the  Solitude, 
Hooded  and  grave — " 

— their  breath  most  austerely 

pure  in  the  gradually  chilling  air.     Their  companies 
increase  and  now  the  way  is  through  a  great  wood 

where  it  has  become  a  trail  and  no  more,  and  still 

3 


4  THE  NINTH  VIBRATION 

it  climbs  for  many  miles  and  finally  a  rambling 
bungalow,  small  and  low,  is  sighted  in  the  deeps  of 
the  trees,  a  mountain  stream  from  unknown  heights 
falling  beside  it.  And  this  is  known  as  the  House 
in  the  Woods.  Very  few  people  are  permitted  to 
go  there,  for  the  owner  has  no  care  for  money  and 
makes  no  provision  for  guests.  You  must  take  your 
own  servant  and  the  khansamah  will  cook  you  such 
simple  food  as  men  expect  in  the  wilds,  and  that  is 
all.  You  stay  as  long  as  you  please  and  when  you 
leave  not  even  a  gift  to  the  khansamah  is  permitted. 

I  had  been  staying  in  Ranipur  of  the  plains  while 
I  considered  the  question  of  getting  to  Upper  Kash 
mir  by  the  route  from  Simla  along  the  old  way  to 
Chinese  Tibet  where  I  would  touch  Shipki  in  the 
Dalai  Lama's  territory  and  then  pass  on  to  Zanskar 
and  so  down  to  Kashmir — a  tremendous  route 
through  the  Himalaya  and  a  crowning  experience  of 
the  mightiest  mountain  scenery  in  the  world.  I  was 
at  Ranipur  for  the  purpose  of  consulting  my  old 
friend  Olesen,  now  an  irrigation  official  in  the  Rani 
pur  district — a  man  who  had  made  this  journey  and 
nearly  lost  his  life  in  doing  it.  It  is  not  now  per 
haps  so  dangerous  as  it  was,  and  my  life  was  of  no 
particular  value  to  any  one  but  myself,  and  the  plan 
interested  me. 

I  pass  over  the  long  discussions  of  ways  and  means 
in  the  blinding  heat  of  Ranipur.  Olesen  put  all  his 


THE  NINTH  VIBRATION  5 

knowledge  at  my  service  and  never  uttered  a  word 
of  the  envy  that  must  have  filled  him  as  he  looked 
at  the  distant  snows  cool  and  luminous  in  blue  air, 
and,  shrugging  good-natured  shoulders,  spoke  of  the 
work  that  lay  before  him  on  the  burning  plains  until 
the  terrible  summer  should  drag  itself  to  a  close.  We 
had  vanquished  the  details  and  were  smoking  in  com 
parative  silence  one  night  on  the  veranda,  when  he 
said  in  his  slow  reflective  way; 

"You  don't  like  the  average  hotel,  Ormond,  and 
you'll  like  it  still  less  up  Simla  way  with  all  the 
Simla  crowd  of  grass-widows  and  fellows  out  for  as 
good  a  time  as  they  can  cram  into  the  hot  weather.  I 
wonder  if  I  could  get  you  a  permit  for  The  House  in 
the  Woods  while  you're  waiting  to  fix  up  your  men 
and  route  for  Shipki." 

He  explained  and  of  course  I  jumped  at  the  chance. 
It  belonged,  he  said,  to  a  man  named  Rup  Singh,  a 
pandit,  or  learned  man  of  Ranipur.  He  had  always 
spent  the  summer  there,  but  age  and  failing  health 
made  this  impossible  now,  and  under  certain  condi 
tions  he  would  occasionally  allow  people  known  to 
friends  of  his  own  to  put  up  there. 

"And  Rup  Singh  and  I  are  very  good  friends," 
Olesen  said;  "I  won  his  heart  by  discovering  the  lost 
Sukh  Mandir,  or  Hall  of  Pleasure,  built  many  centu 
ries  ago  by  a  Maharao  of  Ranipur  for  a  summer  re 
treat  in  the  great  woods  far  beyond  Simla.  There 


6  THE  NINTH  VIBRATION 

are  lots  of  legends  about  it  here  in  Ranipur.  They 
call  it  The  House  of  Beauty.  Rup  Singh's  ancestor 
had  been  a  close  friend  of  the  Maharao  and  was  with 
him  to  the  end,  and  that's  why  he  himself  sets  such 
store  on  the  place.  You  have  a  good  chance  if  I  ask 
for  a  permit." 

He  told  me  the  story  and  since  it  is  the  heart  of 
my  own  I  give  it  briefly.  Many  centuries  ago  the 
Ranipur  Kingdom  was  ruled  by  the  Maharao  Rai 
Singh  a  prince  of  the  great  lunar  house  of  the 
Rajputs.  Expecting  a  bride  from  some  far  away 
kingdom  (the  name  of  this  is  unrecorded)  he  built 
the  Hall  of  Pleasure  as  a  summer  palace,  a  house  of 
rare  and  costly  beauty.  A  certain  great  chamber  he 
lined  with  carved  figures  of  the  Gods  and  their 
stories,  almost  unsurpassed  for  truth  and  life.  So, 
with  the  pine  trees  whispering  about  it  the  secret  they 
sigh  to  tell,  he  hoped  to  create  an  earthly  Paradise 
with  this  Queen  in  whom  all  loveliness  was  perfected. 
And  then  some  mysterious  tragedy  ended  all  his 
hopes.  It  was  rumoured  that  when  the  Princess  came 
to  his  court,  she  was,  by  some  terrible  mistake,  re 
ceived  with  insult  and  offered  the  position  only  of 
one  of  his  women.  After  that  nothing  was  known. 
Certain  only  is  it  that  he  fled  to  the  hills,  to  the  home 
of  his  broken  hope,  and  there  ended  his  days  in  soli 
tude,  save  for  the  attendance  of  two  faithful  friends 
who  would  not  abandon  him  even  in  the  ghostly  quiet 


THE  NINTH  VIBRATION  7 

of  the  winter  when  the  pine  boughs  were  heavy  with 
snow  and  a  spectral  moon  stared  at  the  panthers 
shuffling  through  the  white  wastes  beneath.  Of  these 
two  Rup  Singh's  ancestor  was  one.  And  in  his  thirty 
fifth  year  the  Maharao  died  and  his  beauty  and 
strength  passed  into  legend  and  his  kingdom  was 
taken  by  another  and  the  jungle  crept  silently  over 
his  Hall  of  Pleasure  and  the  story  ended. 

"There  was  not  a  memory  of  the  place  up  there." 
Olesen  went  on,  "Certainly  I  never  heard  anything  of 
it  when  I  went  up  to  the  Shipki  in  1904.  But  I  had 
been  able  to  be  useful  to  Rup  Singh  and  he  gave  me 
a  permit  for  The  House  in  the  Woods,  and  I  stopped 
there  for  a  few  days'  shooting.  I  remember  that  day 
so  well.  I  was  wandering  in  the  dense  woods  while 
my  men  got  their  midday  grub,  and  I  missed  the  trail 
somehow  and  found  myself  in  a  part  where  the  trees 
were  dark  and  thick  and  the  silence  heavy  as  lead.  It 
was  as  if  the  trees  were  on  guard — they  stood  shoulder 
to  shoulder  and  stopped  the  way.  Well,  I  halted,  and 
had  a  notion  there  was  something  beyond  that  made 
me  doubt  whether  to  go  on.  I  must  have  stood  there 
five  minutes  hesitating.  Then  I  pushed  on,  bruising 
the  thick  ferns  under  my  shooting  boots  and  stooping 
under  the  knotted  boughs.  Suddenly  I  tramped  out  of 
the  jungle  into  a  clearing,  and  lo  and  behold  a  ruined 
House,  with  blocks  of  marble  lying  all  about  it,  and 
carved  pillars  and  a  great  roof  all  being  slowly  smoth- 


8  THE  NINTH  VIBRATION 

ered  by  the  jungle.  The  weirdest  thing  you  ever 
saw.  I  climbed  some  fallen  columns  to  get  a  better 
look,  and  as  I  did  I  saw  a  face  flash  by  at  the  arch  of 
a  broken  window.  I  sang  out  in  Hindustani,  but  no 
answer:  only  the  echo  from  the  woods.  Somehow  that 
damped  my  ardour,  and  I  didn't  go  in  to  what  seemed 
like  a  great  ruined  hall  for  the  place  was  so  eerie 
and  lonely,  and  looked  mighty  snaky  into  the  bargain. 
So  I  came  ingloriously  away  and  told  Rup  Singh. 
And  his  whole  face  changed.  'That  is  The  House  of 
Beauty,'  he  said.  'All  my  life  have  I  sought  it  and 
in  vain.  For,  friend  of  my  soul,  a  man  must  lose 
himself  that  he  may  find  himself  and  what  lies  be 
yond,  and  the  trodden  path  has  ever  been  my  doom. 
And  you  who  have  not  sought  have  seen.  Most 
strange  are  the  ways  of  the  Gods'.  Later  on  I  knew 
this  was  why  he  had  always  gone  up  yearly,  thinking 
and  dreaming  God  knows  what.  He  and  I  tried  for 
the  place  together,  but  in  vain  and  the  whole  thing  is 
like  a  dream.  Twice  he  has  let  friends  of  mine  stay 
at  The  House  in  the  Woods,  and  I  think  he  won't  re 
fuse  now." 

"Did  he  ever  tell  you  the  story?" 

"Never.  I  only  know  what  I've  picked  up  here. 
Some  horrible  mistake  about  the  Rani  that  drove  the 
man  almost  mad  with  remorse.  I've  heard  bits  here 
and  there.  There's  nothing  so  vital  as  tradition  in 
India." 


THE  NINTH  VIBRATION  9 

"I  wonder  what  really  happened." 

"That  we  shall  never  know.  I  got  a  little  old  pic 
ture  of  the  Maharao — said  to  be  painted  by  a  Pahari 
artist.  It's  not  likely  to  be  authentic,  but  you  never 
can  tell.  A  Brahman  sold  it  to  me  that  he  might  com 
plete  his  daughter's  dowry,  and  hated  doing  it." 

"May  I  see  it?" 

"Why  certainly.  Not  a  very  good  light,  but — can 
do,  as  the  Chinks  say." 

He  brought  it  out  rolled  in  silk  stuff  and  I  carried 
it  under  the  hanging  lamp.  A  beautiful  young  man 
indeed,  with  the  air  of  race  these  people  have  beyond 
all  others; — a  cold  haughty  face,  immovably  digni 
fied.  He  sat  with  his  hands  resting  lightly  on  the 
arms  of  his  chair  of  State.  A  crescent  of  rubies 
clasped  the  folds  of  the  turban  and  from  this  sprang 
an  aigrette  scattering  splendours.  The  magnificent 
hilt  of  a  sword  was  ready  beside  him.  The  face  was 
not  only  beautiful  but  arresting. 

"A  strange  picture,"  I  said.  "The  artist  has  cap 
tured  the  man  himself.  I  can  see  him  trampling  on 
any  one  who  opposed  him,  and  suffering  in  the  same 
cold  secret  way.  It  ought  to  be  authentic  if  it  isn't. 
Don't  you  know  any  more?" 

"Nothing.  Well — to  bed,  and  tomorrow  I'll  see 
Rup  Singh." 

I  was  glad  when  he  returned  with  the  permission. 
I  was  to  be  very  careful,  he  said,  to  make  no  allusion 


10  THE  NINTH  VIBRATION 

to  the  lost  palace,  for  two  women  were  staying  at  tne 
House  in  the  Woods — a  mother  and  daughter  to  whom 
Rup  Singh  had  granted  hospitality  because  of  an 
obligation  he  must  honor.  But  with  true  Oriental 
distrust  of  women  he  had  thought  fit  to  make  no  con 
fidence  to  them.  I  promised  and  asked  Olesen  if  he 
knew  them. 

"Slightly.  Canadians  of  Danish  blood  like  my 
own.  Their  name  is  Ingmar.  Some  people  think  the 
daughter  good-looking.  The  mother  is  supposed  to 
be  clever;  keen  on  occult  subjects  which  she  came  back 
to  India  to  study.  The  husband  was  a  great  naturalist 
and  the  kindest  of  men.  He  almost  lived  in  the  jun 
gle  and  the  natives  had  all  sorts  of  rumours  about  his 
powers.  You  know  what  they  are.  They  said  the 
birds  and  beasts  followed  him  about.  Any  old  thing 
starts  a  legend." 

"What  was  the  connection  with  Rup  Singh?" 
"He  was  in  difficulties  and  undeservedly,  and  Ing- 
mar  generously  lent  him  money  at  a  critical  time, 
trusting  to  his  honour  for  repayment.  Like  most 
Orientals  he  never  forgets  a  good  turn  and  would  do 
anything  for  any  of  the  family — except  trust  the 
women  with  any  secret  he  valued.  The  father  is  long 
dead.  By  the  way  Rup  Singh  gave  me  a  queer  mes 
sage  for  you.  He  said;  'Tell  the  Sahib  these  words 
— "Let  him  who  finds  water  in  the  desert  share  his  cup 
with  him  who  dies  of  thirst."  He  is  certainly  getting 


THE  NINTH  VIBRATION  11 

very  old.  I  don't  suppose  he  knew  himself  what  he 
meant." 

I  certainly  did  not.  However  my  way  was  thus 
smoothed  for  me  and  I  took  the  upward  road,  leaving 
Olesen  to  the  long  ungrateful  toil  of  the  man  who  de 
votes  his  life  to  India  without  sufficient  time  or  knowl 
edge  to  make  his  way  to  the  inner  chambers  of  her 
beauty.  There  is  no  harder  mistress  unless  you  hold 
the  pass-key  to  her  mysteries,  there  is  none  of  whom 
so  little  can  be  told  in  words  but  who  kindles  so  deep 
a  passion.  Necessity  sometimes  takes  me  from  that 
enchanted  land,  but  when  the  latest  dawns  are  shining 
in  my  skies  I  shall  make  my  feeble  way  back  to  her 
and  die  at  her  worshipped  feet.  So  I  went  up  from 
Kalka. 

I  have  never  liked  Simla.  It  is  beautiful  enough — 
eight  thousand  feet  up  in  the  grip  of  the  great  hills 
looking  toward  the  snows,  the  famous  summer  home 
of  the  Indian  Government.  Much  diplomacy  is  whis 
pered  on  Observatory  Hill  and  many  are  the  lighter 
diversions  of  which  Mr  Kipling  and  lesser  men  have 
written.  But  Simla  is  also  a  gateway  to  many  things 
— to  the  mighty  deodar  forests  that  clothe  the  foot 
hills  of  the  mountains,  to  Kulu,  to  the  eternal  snows, 
to  the  old,  old  bridle  way  that  leads  up  to  the  Shipki 
Pass  and  the  mysteries  of  Tibet — and  to  the  strange 
things  told  in  this  story.  So  I  passed  through  with 
scarcely  a  glance  at  the  busy  gayety  of  the  little 


12  THE  NINTH  VIBRATION 

streets  and  the  tiny  shops  where  the  pretty  ladies  buy 
their  rouge  and  powder.  I  was  attended  by  my  ser 
vant  Ali  Khan,  a  Mohammedan  from  Nagpur,  sent  up 
with  me  by  Olesen  with  strong  recommendation.  He 
was  a  stout  walker,  so  too  am  I,  and  an  inveterate 
dislike  to  the  man-drawn  carriage  whenever  my  own 
legs  would  serve  me  decided  me  to  walk  the  sixteen 
miles  to  the  House  in  the  Woods,  sending  on  the  bag 
gage.  Ali  Khan  despatched  it  and  prepared  to  fol 
low  me,  the  fine  cool  air  of  the  hills  giving  us  a  zest. 

"Subhan  Alia!  (Praise  be  to  God!)  the  air  is 
sweet!"  he  said,  stepping  out  behind  me.  "What 
time  does  the  Sahib  look  to  reach  the  House?" 

"About  five  or  six.  Now,  Ali  Khan,  strike  out  of 
the  road.  You  know  the  way." 

So  we  struck  up  into  the  glorious  pine  woods, 
mountains  all  about  us.  Here  and  there  as  we 
climbed  higher  was  a  little  bank  of  forgotten  snow, 
but  spring  had  triumphed  and  everywhere  was  the 
waving  grace  of  maiden-hair  ferns,  banks  of  violets 
and  strangely  beautiful  little  wild  flowers.  These 
woods  are  full  of  panthers,  but  in  day  time  the  only 
precaution  necessary  is  to  take  no  dog, — a  dainty 
they  cannot  resist.  The  air  was  exquisite  with 
the  sun-warm  scent  of  pines,  and  here  and  there 
the  trees  broke  away  disclosing  mighty  ranges  of 
hills  covered  with  rich  blue  shadows  like  the  bloom 


THE  NINTH  VIBRATION  13 

on  a  plum, — the  clouds  chasing  the  sunshine  over 
the  mountain  sides  and  the  dark  green  velvet  of 
the  robe  of  pines.  I  looked  across  ravines  that  did 
not  seem  gigantic  and  yet  the  villages  on  the  other 
side  were  like  a  handful  of  peas,  so  tremendous  was 
the  scale.  I  stood  now  and  then  to  see  the  rhododen 
drons,  forest  trees  here  with  great  trunks  and  massive 
boughs  glowing  with  blood-red  blossom,  and  time 
went  by  and  I  took  no  count  of  it,  so  glorious  was  the 
climb. 

It  must  have  been  hours  later  when  it  struck  me 
that  the  sun  was  getting  low  and  that  by  now  we  should 
be  nearing  The  House  in  the  Woods.  I  said  as  much 
to  Ali  Khan.  He  looked  perplexed  and  agreed.  We 
had  reached  a  comparatively  level  place,  the  trail 
faint  but  apparent,  and  it  surprised  me  that  we  heard 
no  sound  of  life  from  the  dense  wood  where  our  goal 
must  be. 

"I  know  not,  Presence,"  he  said.  "May  his  face  be 
blackened  that  directed  me.  I  thought  surely  I  could 
not  miss  the  way,  and  yet — " 

We  cast  back  and  could  see  no  trail  forking  from 
the  one  we  were  on.  There  was  nothing  for  it  but 
to  trust  to  luck  and  push  on.  But  I  began  to  be  un 
easy  and  so  was  the  man.  I  had  stupidly  forgotten  to 
unpack  my  revolver,  and  worse,  we  had  no  food,  and 
the  mountain  air  is  an  appetiser,  and  at  night  the 


14  THE  NINTH  VIBRATION 

woods  have  their  dangers,  apart  from  being  absolutely 
trackless.  We  had  not  met  a  living  being  since  we 
left  the  road  and  there  seemed  no  likelihood  of  ask 
ing  for  directions.  I  stopped  no  longer  for  views  but 
went  steadily  on,  Ali  Khan  keeping  up  a  running  fire 
of  low-voiced  invocations  and  lamentations.  And 
now  it  was  dusk  and  the  position  decidedly  un 
pleasant. 

It  was  at  that  moment  I  saw  a  woman  before  us 
walking  lightly  and  steadily  under  the  pines.  She 
must  have  struck  into  the  trail  from  the  side  for  she 
never  could  have  kept  before  us  all  the  way.  A 
native  woman,  but  wearing  the  all-concealing  boorka, 
more  like  a  town  dweller  than  a  woman  of  the  hills. 
I  put  on  speed  and  Ali  Khan,  now  very  tired,  toiled 
on  behind  me  as  I  came  up  with  her  and  courteously 
asked  the  way.  Her  face  was  entirely  hidden,  but 
the  answering  voice  was  clear  and  sweet.  I  made  up 
my  mind  she  was  young,  for  it  had  the  bird-like  thrill 
of  youth. 

"If  the  Presence  continues  to  follow  this  path  he 
will  arrive.  It  is  not  far.  They  wait  for  him." 

That  was  all.  It  left  me  with  a  desire  to  see  the 
veiled  face.  We  passed  on  and  Ali  Khan  looked 
fearfully  back. 

"Ajaib!  (Wonderful!)  A  strange  place  to  meet  one 
of  the  purdah-nashin  (veiled  women)"  he  muttered. 
"What  would  she  be  doing  up  here  in  the  heights? 


THE  NINTH  VIBRATION  15 

She  walked  like  a  Khanam  (khan's  wife)  and  I  saw 
the  gleam  of  gold  under  the  boorka." 

I  turned  with  some  curiosity  as  he  spoke,  and  lo! 
there  was  no  human  being  in  sight.  She  had  disap 
peared  from  the  track  behind  us  and  it  was  impossible 
to  say  where.  The  darkening  trees  were  beginning 
to  hold  the  dusk  and  it  seemed  unimaginable  that  a 
woman  should  leave  the  way  and  take  to  the  dangers 
of  the  woods. 

"Puna-i-Khoda — God  protect  us!"  said  Ali  Khan 
in  a  shuddering  whisper.  "She  was  a  devil  of  the 
wilds.  Press  on,  Sahib.  We  should  not  be  here  in 
the  dark." 

There  was  nothing  else  to  do.  We  made  the 
best  speed  we  could,  and  the  trees  grew  more 
dense  and  the  trail  fainter  between  the  close  trunks, 
and  so  the  night  came  bewildering  with  the  expectation 
that  we  must  pass  the  night  unfed  and  unarmed  in  the 
cold  of  the  heights.  They  might  send  out  a  search 
party  from  The  House  in  the  Woods — that  was  still  a 
hope,  if  there  were  no  other.  And  then,  very 
gradually  and  wonderfully  the  moon  dawned  over 
the  tree  tops  and  flooded  the  wood  with  mysterious 
silver  lights  and  about  her  rolled  the  majesty  of  the 
stars.  We  pressed  on  into  the  heart  of  the  night. 
From  the  dense  black  depths  we  emerged  at  last.  An 
open  glade  lay  before  us — the  trees  falling  back  to 
right  and  left  to  disclose — what? 


16  THE  NINTH  VIBRATION 

A  long  low  house  of  marble,  unlit,  silent,  bathed 
in  pale  splendour  and  shadow.  About  it  stood  great 
deodars,  clothed  in  clouds  of  the  white  blossoming 
clematis,  ghostly  and  still.  Acacias  hung  motionless 
trails  of  heavily  scented  bloom  as  if  carved  in  ivory. 
It  was  all  silent  as  death.  A  flight  of  nobly 
sculptured  steps  led  up  to  a  broad  veranda  and  a  wide 
open  door  with  darkness  behind  it.  Nothing  more. 

I  forced  myself  to  shout  in  Hindustani — the  cry 
seeming  a  brutal  outrage  upon  the  night,  and  an  echo 
came  back  numbed  in  the  black  woods.  I  tried  once 
more  and  in  vain.  We  stood  absorbed  also  into  the 
silence. 

"Ya  Alia!  it  is  a  house  of  the  dead!"  whispered 
Ali  Khan,  shuddering  at  my  shoulder, — and  even  as 
the  words  left  his  lips  I  understood  where  we  were. 
"It  is  the  Sukh  Mandir."  I  said.  "It  is  the  House 
of  the  Maharao  of  Ranipur." 

It  was  impossible  to  be  in  Ranipur  and  hear 
nothing  of  the  dead  house  of  the  forest  and  Ali 
Khan  had  heard — God  only  knows  what  tales. 
In  his  terror  all  discipline,  all  the  inborn  respect 
of  the  native  forsook  him,  and  without  word  or 
sign  he  turned  and  fled  along  the  track,  crashing 
through  the  forest  blind  and  mad  with  fear.  It  would 
have  been  insanity  to  follow  him,  and  in  India  the  first 
rule  of  life  is  that  the  Sahib  shows  no  fear,  so  I  left 
him  to  his  fate  whatever  it  might  be,  believing  at  the 


THE  NINTH  VIBRATION  17 

same  time  that  a  little  reflection  and  dread  of  the 
lonely  forest  would  bring  him  to  heel  quickly. 

I  stood  there  and  the  stillness  flowed  like  water 
about  me.  It  was  as  though  I  floated  upon  it — bathed 
in  quiet.  My  thoughts  adjusted  themselves. 
Possibly  it  was  not  the  Sukh  Mandir.  Olesen  had 
spoken  of  ruin.  I  could  see  none.  At  least  it  was 
shelter  from  the  chill  which  is  always  present  at  these 
heights  when  the  sun  sets, — and  it  was  beautiful  as 
a  house  not  made  with  hands.  There  was  a  sense  of 
awe  but  no  fear  as  I  went  slowly  up  the  great  steps 
and  into  the  gloom  beyond  and  so  gained  the  hall. 

The  moon  went  with  me  and  from  a  carven  arch 
filled  with  marble  tracery  rained  radiance  that  re 
vealed  and  hid.  Pillars  stood  about  me,  wonderful 
with  horses  ramping  forward  as  in  the  Siva  Temple  at 
Vellore.  They  appeared  to  spring  from  the  pillars 
into  the  gloom  urged  by  invisible  riders,  the  effect 
barbarously  rich  and  strange — motion  arrested, 
struck  dumb  in  a  violent  gesture,  and  behind  them 
impenetrable  darkness.  I  could  not  see  the  end  of 
this  hall — for  the  moon  did  not  reach  it,  but  looking 
up  I  beheld  the  walls  fretted  in  great  panels  into  the 
utmost  splendour  of  sculpture,  encircling  the  stories 
of  the  Gods  amid  a  twining  and  under-weaving  of 
leaves  and  flowers.  It  was  more  like  a  temple  than  a 
dwelling.  Siva,  as  Nataraja  the  Cosmic  Dancer,  the 
Rhythm  of  the  Universe,  danced  before  me,  flinging 


18  THE  NINTH  VIBRATION 

out  his  arms  in  the  passion  of  creation.  Kama,  the 
Indian  Eros,  bore  his  bow  strung  with  honey-sweet 
black  bees  that  typify  the  heart's  desire.  Krishna 
the  Beloved  smiled  above  the  herd-maidens  adoring 
at  his  feet.  Ganesha  the  Elephant-Headed,  sat  in 
massive  calm,  wreathing  his  wise  trunk  about  him. 
And  many  more.  But  all  these  so  far  as  I  could  see 
tended  to  one  centre  panel  larger  than  any,  repre 
senting  two  life-size  figures  of  a  dim  beauty.  At  first 
I  could  scarcely  distinguish  one  from  the  other  in  the 
upward-reflected  light,  and  then,  even  as  I  stood,  the 
moving  moon  revealed  the  two  as  if  floating  in  vapor. 
At  once  I  recognized  the  subject — I  had  seen  it 
already  in  the  ruined  temple  of  Ranipur,  though  the 
details  differed.  Parvati,  the  Divine  Daughter  of  the 
Himalaya,  the  Emanation  of  the  mighty  mountains, 
seated  upon  a  throne,  listening  to  a  girl  who  played 
on  a  Pan  pipe  before  her.  The  goddess  sat,  her  chin 
leaned  upon  her  hand,  her  shoulders  slightly  inclined 
in  a  pose  of  gentle  sweetness,  looking  down  upon  the 
girl  at  her  feet,  absorbed  in  the  music  of  the  hills  and 
lonely  places.  A  band  of  jewels,  richly  wrought, 
clasped  the  veil  on  her  brows,  and  below  the  bare 
bosom  a  glorious  girdle  clothed  her  with  loops  and 
strings  and  tassels  of  jewels  that  fell  to  her  knees — 
her  only  garment. 

The  girl  was  a  lovely  image  of  young  womanhood, 
the  proud  swell  of  the  breast  tapering  to  the  slim  waist 


THE  NINTH  VIBRATION  19 

and  long  limbs  easily  folded  as  she  half  reclined  at 
the  divine  feet,  her  lips  pressed  to  the  pipe.  Its 
silent  music  mysteriously  banished  fear.  The  sleep 
must  be  sweet  indeed  that  would  come  under  the 
guardianship  of  these  two  fair  creatures — their 
gracious  influence  was  dewy  in  the  air.  I  resolved 
that  I  would  spend  the  night  beside  them.  Now  with 
the  march  of  the  moon  dim  vistas  of  the  walls  beyond 
sprang  into  being.  Strange  mythologies — the  incar 
nations  of  Vishnu  the  Preserver,  the  Pastoral  of 
Krishna  the  Beautiful.  I  promised  myself  that  next 
day  I  would  sketch  some  of  the  loveliness  about  me. 
But  the  moon  was  passing  on  her  way — I  folded  the 
coat  I  carried  into  a  pillow  and  lay  down  at  the  feet 
of  the  goddess  and  her  nymph.  Then  a  moonlit  quiet. 
I  slept  in  a  dream  of  peace. 

Sleep  annihilates  time.  Was  it  long  or  short  when 
I  woke  like  a  man  floating  up  to  the  surface  from 
tranquil  deeps?  That  I  cannot  tell,  but  once  more  I 
possessed  myself  and  every  sense  was  on  guard. 

My  hearing  first.  Bare  feet  were  coming,  falling 
softly  as  leaves,  but  unmistakable.  There  was  a  dim 
whispering  but  I  could  hear  no  word.  I  rose  on  my 
elbow  and  looked  down  the  long  hall.  Nothing. 
The  moonlight  lay  in  pools  of  light  and  seas  of 
shadow  on  the  floor,  and  the  feet  drew  nearer.  Was 
I  afraid?  I  cannot  tell,  but  a  deep  expectation 
possessed  me  as  the  sound  grew  like  the  rustle  of 


20  THE  NINTH  VIBRATION 

grasses  parted  in  a  fluttering  breeze,  and  now  a  girl 
came  swiftly  up  the  steps,  irradiate  in  the  moonlight, 
and  passing  up  the  hall  stood  beside  me.  I  could  see 
her  robe,  her  feet  bare  from  the  jungle,  but  her  face 
wavered  and  changed  and  re-united  like  the  face  of  a 
dream  woman.  I  could  not  fix  it  for  one  moment, 
yet  knew  this  was  the  messenger  for  whom  I  had 
waited  all  my  life — for  whom  one  strange  experience, 
not  to  be  told  at  present,  had  prepared  me  in  early 
manhood.  Words  came,  and  I  said: 

"Is  this  a  dream?" 

"No.  We  meet  in  the  Ninth  Vibration.  All  here 
is  true." 

"Is  a  dream  never  true?" 

"Sometimes  it  is  the  echo  of  the  Ninth  Vibration 
and  therefore  a  harmonic  of  truth.  You  are  awake 
now.  It  is  the  day-time  that  is  the  sleep  of  the  soul. 
You  are  in  the  Lower  Perception,  wherein  the  truth 
behind  the  veil  of  what  men  call  Reality  is  perceived." 

"Can  I  ascend?" 

"I  cannot  tell.     That  is  for  you,  not  me." 

"What  do  I  perceive  tonight?" 

"The  Present  as  it  is  in  the  Eternal.  Say  no  more. 
Come  with  me." 

She  stretched  her  hand  and  took  mine  with  the 
assurance  of  a  goddess,  and  we  went  up  the  hall 
where  the  night  had  been  deepest  between  the  great 
pillars. 


THE  NINTH  VIBRATION  21 

Now  it  is  very  clear  to  me  that  in  every  land  men, 
when  the  doors  of  perception  are  opened,  will  see 
what  we  call  the  Supernatural  clothed  in  the  image  in 
which  that  country  has  accepted  it.  Blake,  the  mighty 
mystic,  will  see  the  Angels  of  the  Revelation,  driving 
their  terrible  way  above  Lambeth — it  is  not  common 
nor  unclean.  The  fisherman,  plying  his  coracle  on 
the  Thames  will  behold  the  consecration  of  the  great 
new  Abbey  of  Westminster  celebrated  with  mass  and 
chant  and  awful  lights  in  the  dead  mid-noon  of  night 
by  that  Apostle  who  is  the  Rock  of  the  Church.  Be 
fore  him  who  wanders  in  Thessaly  Pan  will  brush  the 
dewy  lawns  and  slim-girt  Artemis  pursue  the  flying 
hart.  In  the  pale  gold  of  Egyptian  sands  the  heavy 
brows  of  Osiris  crowned  with  the  pshent  will  brood 
above  the  seer  and  the  veil  of  Isis  tremble  to 
the  lifting.  For  all  this  is  the  rhythm  to  which  the 
souls  of  men  are  attuned  and  in  that  vibration  they 
will  see,  and  no  other,  since  in  this  the  very  mountains 
and  trees  of  the  land  are  rooted.  So  here,  where  our 
remote  ancestors  worshipped  the  Gods  of  Nature,  we 
must  needs  stand  before  the  Mystic  Mother  of  India, 
the  divine  daughter  of  the  Himalaya. 

How  shall  I  describe  the  world  we  entered?  The 
carvings  upon  the  walls  had  taken  life — they  had 
descended.  It  was  a  gathering  of  the  dreams  men 
have  dreamed  here  of  the  Gods,  yet  most  real  and 
actual.  They  watched  in  a  serenity  that  set  them 


22  THE  NINTH  VIBRATION 

apart  in  an  atmosphere  of  their  own — forms  of 
indistinct  majesty  and  august  beauty,  absolute,  simple, 
and  everlasting.  I  saw  them  as  one  sees  reflections 
in  rippled  water — no  more.  But  all  faces  turned  to 
the  place  where  now  a  green  and  flowering  leafage 
enshrined  and  partly  hid  the  living  Nature  Goddess, 
as  she  listened  to  a  voice  that  was  not  dumb  to  me.  I 
saw  her  face  only  in  glimpses  of  an  indescribable 
sweetness,  but  an  influence  came  from  her  presence 
like  the  scent  of  rainy  pine  forests,  the  coolness  that 
breathes  from  great  rivers,  the  passion  of  Spring  when 
she  breaks  on  the  world  with  a  wave  of  flowers. 
Healing  and  life  flowed  from  it.  Understanding  also. 
It  seemed  I  could  interpret  the  very  silence  of  the 
trees  outside  into  the  expression  of  their  inner  life, 
the  running  of  the  green  life-blood  in  their  veins,  the 
delicate  trembling  of  their  finger-tips. 

My  companion  and  I  were  not  heeded.  We  stood 
hand  in  hand  like  children  who  have  innocently 
strayed  into  a  palace,  gazing  in  wonderment.  The 
august  life  went  its  way  upon  its  own  occasions,  and, 
if  we  would,  we  might  watch.  Then  the  voice,  clear 
and  cold,  proceeding,  as  it  were,  with  some  story 
begun  before  we  had  strayed  into  the  Presence,  the 
whole  assembly  listening  in  silence. 

" — and  as  it  has  been  so  it  will  be,  for  the  Law 
will  have  the  blind  soul  carried  into  a  body  which  is 
a  record  of  the  sins  it  has  committed,  and  will  not 


THE  NINTH  VIBRATION  23 

suffer  that  soul  to  escape  from  re-birth  into  bodies 
until  it  has  seen  the  truth — 

And  even  as  this  was  said  and  I  listened,  knowing 
myself  on  the  verge  of  some  great  knowledge,  I  felt 
sleep  beginning  to  weigh  upon  my  eyelids.  The 
sound  blurred,  flowed  unsyllabled  as  a  stream,  the 
girl's  hand  grew  light  in  mine;  she  was  fading,  be 
coming  unreal;  I  saw  her  eyes  like  faint  stars  in  a 
mist.  They  were  gone.  Arms  seemed  to  receive  me 
— to  lay  me  to  sleep  and  I  sank  below  consciousness, 
and  the  night  took  me. 

When  I  awoke  the  radiant  arrows  of  the  morning 
were  shooting  into  the  long  hall  where  I  lay,  but  as  I 
rose  and  looked  about  me,  strange — most  strange, 
ruin  encircled  me  everywhere.  The  blue  sky  was  the 
roof.  What  I  had  thought  a  palace  lost  in  the  jungle, 
fit  to  receive  its  King  should  he  enter,  was  now  a 
broken  hall  of  State;  the  shattered  pillars  were 
festooned  with  waving  weeds,  the  many  coloured 
lantana  grew  between  the  fallen  blocks  of  marble. 
Even  the  sculptures  on  the  walls  were  difficult  to  de 
cipher.  Faintly  I  could  trace  a  hand,  a  foot,  the  orb 
of  a  woman's  bosom,  the  gracious  outline  of  some 
young  God,  standing  above  a  crouching  worshipper. 
No  more.  Yes,  and  now  I  saw  above  me  as  the  dawn 
touched  it  the  form  of  the  Dweller  in  the  Windhya 
Hills,  Parvati  the  Beautiful,  leaning  softly  over  some 
thing  breathing  music  at  her  feet.  Yet  I  knew  I  could 


24  THE  NINTH  VIBRATION 

trace  the  almost  obliterated  sculpture  only  because 
I  had  already  seen  it  defined  in  perfect  beauty.  A 
deep  crack  ran  across  the  marble;  it  was  weathered 
and  stained  by  many  rains,  and  little  ferns  grew  in 
the  crevices,  but  I  could  reconstruct  every  line  from 
my  own  knowledge.  And  how?  The  Parvati  of 
Ranipur  differed  in  many  important  details.  She 
stood,  bending  forward,  whereas  this  sweet  Lady  sat. 
Her  attendants  were  small  satyr-like  spirits  of  the 
wilds,  piping  and  fluting,  in  place  of  the  reclining 
maiden.  The  sweeping  scrolls  of  a  great  halo 
encircled  her  whole  person.  Then  how  could  I  tell 
what  this  nearly  obliterated  carving  had  been?  I 
groped  for  the  answer  and  could  not  find  it.  I 
doubted — 

"Were  such  things  here  as  we  do  speak  about? 
Or  have  we  eaten  of  the  insane  root 
That  takes  the  reason  captive?" 

Memory  rushed  over  me  like  the  sea  over  dry  sands. 
A  girl — there  had  been  a  girl — we  had  stood  with 
clasped  hands  to  hear  a  strange  music,  but  in  spite  of 
the  spiritual  intimacy  of  those  moments  I  could  not 
recall  her  face.  I  saw  it  cloudy  against  a  background 
of  night  and  dream,  the  eyes  remote  as  stars,  and  so  it 
eluded  me.  Only  her  presence  and  her  words  sur 
vived;  "We  meet  in  the  Ninth  Vioration.  All  here 
is  true."  But  the  Ninth  Vibration  itself  was  dream- 


THE  NINTH  VIBRATION  25 

land.  I  had  never;  heard  the  phrase — I  could  not  tell 
what  was  meant,  nor  whether  my  apprehension  was 
true  or  false.  I  knew  only  that  the  night  had  taken 
her  and  the  dawn  denied  her,  and  that,  dream  or  no 
dream,  I  stood  there  with  a  pang  of  loss  that  even  now 
leaves  me  wordless. 

A  bird  sang  outside  in  the  acacias,  clear  and  shrill 
for  day,  and  this  awakened  my  senses  and  lowered  me 
to  the  plane  where  I  became  aware  of  cold  and 
hunger,  and  was  chilled  with  dew.  I  passed  down 
the  tumbled  steps  that  had  been  a  stately  ascent  the 
night  before  and  made  my  way  into  the  jungle  by  the 
trail,  small  and  lost  in  fern,  by  which  we  had  come. 
Again  I  wandered,  and  it  was  high  noon  before  I 
heard  mule  bells  at  a  distance,  and,  thus  guided, 
struck  down  though  the  green  tangle  to  find  myself, 
wearied  but  safe,  upon  the  bridle  way  that  leads  to 
Fagu  and  the  far  Shipki.  Two  coolies  then  directed 
me  to  The  House  in  the  Woods. 

All  was  anxiety  there.  Ali  Khan  had  arrived  in 
the  night,  having  found  his  way  under  the  guidance 
of  blind  flight  and  fear.  He  had  brought  the  news 
that  I  was  lost  in  the  jungle  and  amid  the  dwellings  of 
demons.  It  was,  of  course,  hopeless  to  search  in  the 
dark,  though  the  khansamah  and  his  man  had  gone  as 
far  as  they  dared  with  lanterns  and  shouting,  and  with 
the  daylight  they  tried  again  and  were  even  now  away. 
It  was  useless  to  reproach  the  man  even  if  I  had  cared 


26  THE  NINTH  VIBRATION 

to  do  so.  His  ready  plea  was  that  as  far  as  men  were 
concerned  he  was  as  brave  as  any  (which  was  true 
enough  as  I  had  reason  to  know  later)  but  that  when 
it  came  to  devilry  the  Twelve  Imaums  themselves 
would  think  twice  before  facing  it. 

"Inshalla  ta^Alla!  (If  the  sublime  God  wills!) 
this  unworthy  one  will  one  day  show  the  Protector  of 
the  poor,  that  he  is  a  respectable  person  and  no 
coward,  but  it  is  only  the  Sahibs  who  laugh  in  the  face 
of  devils." 

He  went  off  to  prepare  me  some  food,  consumed 
with  curiosity  as  to  my  adventures,  and  when  I  had 
eaten  I  found  my  tiny  whitewashed  cell,  for  the 
room  was  little  more,  and  slept  for  hours. 

Late  in  the  afternoon  I  waked  and  looked  out.  A 
low  but  glowing  sunlight  suffused  the  wild  garden 
reclaimed  from  the  strangle-hold  of  the  jungle  and 
hemmed  in  with  rocks  and  forest.  A  few  simple 
flowers  had  been  planted  here  and  there,  but  its  chief 
beauty  was  a  mountain  stream,  brown  and  clear  as 
the  eyes  of  a  dog,  that  fell  from  a  crag  above  into  a 
rocky  basin,  maidenhair  ferns  growing  in  such  masses 
about  it  that  it  was  henceforward  scarcely  more  than  a 
woodland  voice.  Beside  it  two  great  deodars  spread 
their  canopies,  and  there  a  woman  sat  in  a  low  chair, 
a  girl  beside  her  reading  aloud.  She  had  thrown  her 
hat  off  and  the  sunshine  turned  her  massed  dark  hair 
to  bronze.  That  was  all  I  could  see.  I  went  out  and 


THE  NINTH  VIBRATION  27 

joined  them,  taking  the  note  of  introduction  which 
Olesen  had  given  me. 

I  pass  over  the  unessentials  of  my  story;  their 
friendly  greetings  and  sympathy  for  my  adventure. 
It  set  us  at  ease  at  once  and  I  knew  my  stay  would  be 
the  happier  for  their  presence  though  it  is  not  every 
woman  one  would  choose  as  a  companion  in  the 
great  mountain  country.  But  what  is  germane  to  my 
purpose  must  be  told,  and  of  this  a  part  is  the  per 
sonality  of  Brynhild  Ingmar.  That  she  was  beautiful 
I  never  doubted,  though  I  have  heard  it  disputed  and 
smiled  inwardly  as  the  disputants  urged  lip  and  cheek 
and  shades  of  rose  and  lily,  weighing  and  appraising. 
Let  me  describe  her  as  I  saw  her  or,  rather,  as  I  can, 
adding  that  even  without  all  this  she  must  still  have 
been  beautiful  because  of  the  deep  significance  to 
those  who  had  eyes  to  see  or  feel  some  mysterious 
element  which  mingled  itself  with  her  presence  com 
parable  only  to  the  delight  which  the  power  and  spirit 
ual  essence  of  Nature  inspires  in  all  but  the  dullest 
minds.  I  know  I  cannot  hope  to  convey  this  in  words. 
It  means  little  if  I  say  I  thought  of  all  quiet  lovely 
solitary  things  when  I  looked  into  her  calm  eyes, — 
that  when  she  moved  it  was  like  clear  springs  renewed 
by  flowing,  that  she  seemed  the  perfect  flowering  of  a 
day  in  June,  for  these  are  phrases.  Does  Nature 
know  her  wonders  when  she  shines  in  her  strength? 
Does  a  woman  know  the  infinite  meanings  her  beauty 


28  .   THE  NINTH  VIBRATION 

may  have  for  the  beholder?  I  cannot  tell.  Nor  can 
I  tell  if  I  saw  this  girl  as  she  may  have  seemed  to 
those  who  read  only  the  letter  of  the  book  and  are 
blind  to  its  spirit,  or  in  the  deepest  sense  as  she  really 
was  in  the  sight  of  That  which  created  her  and  of 
which  she  was  a  part.  Surely  it  is  a  proof  of  the 
divinity  of  love  that  in  and  for  a  moment  it  lifts  the 
veil  of  so-called  reality  and  shows  each  to  the  other 
mysteriously  perfect  and  inspiring  as  the  world  will 
never  see  them,  but  as  they  exist  in  the  Eternal,  and  in 
the  sight  of  those  who  have  learnt  that  the  material  is 
but  the  dream,  and  the  vision  of  love  the  truth. 

I  will  say  then,  for  the  alphabet  of  what  I  knew  but 
cannot  tell,  that  she  had  the  low  broad  brows  of  a 
Greek  Nature  Goddess,  the  hair  swept  back  wing-like 
from  the  temples  and  massed  with  a  noble  luxuriance. 
It  lay  like  rippled  bronze,  suggesting  something 
strong  and  serene  in  its  essence.  Her  eyes  were  clear 
and  gray  as  water,  the  mouth  sweetly  curved  above  a 
resolute  chin.  It  was  a  face  which  recalled  a 
modeling  in  marble  rather  than  the  charming  pastel 
and  aquarelle  of  a  young  woman's  colouring,  and 
somehow  I  thought  of  it  less  as  the  beauty  of  a  woman 
than  as  some  sexless  emanation  of  natural  things,  and 
this  impression  was  strengthened  by  her  height  and 
the  long  limbs,  slender  and  strong  as  those  of  some 
youth  trained  in  the  pentathlon,  subject  to  the  severest 
discipline  until  all  that  was  superfluous  was  fined 


THE  NINTH  VIBRATION  29 

away  and  the  perfect  form  expressing  the  true  being 
emerged.  The  body  was  thus  more  beautiful  than  the 
face,  and  I  may  note  in  passing  that  this  is  often  the 
case,  because  the  face  is  more  directly  the  index  of 
the  restless  and  unhappy  soul  within  and  can  attain 
true  beauty  only  when  the  soul  is  in  harmony  with  its 
source. 

She  was  a  little  like  her  pale  and  wearied  mother. 
She  might  resemble  her  still  more  when  the  sorrow  of 
this  world  that  worketh  death  should  have  had  its  will 
of  her.  I  had  yet  to  learn  that  this  would  never  be — 
that  she  had  found  the  open  door  of  escape. 

We  three  spent  much  time  together  in  the  days  that 
followed.  I  never  tired  of  their  company  and  I  think 
they  did  not  tire  of  mine,  for  my  wanderings  through 
the  world  and  my  studies  in  the  ancient  Indian  liter 
atures  and  faiths  with  the  Pandit  Devaswami  were  of 
interest  to  them  both  though  in  entirely  different  ways. 
Mrs.  Ingmar  was  a  woman  who  centred  all  her 
interests  in  books  and  chiefly  in  the  scientific  forms 
of  occult  research.  She  was  no  believer  in  anything 
outside  the  range  of  what  she  called  human  ex 
perience.  The  evidences  had  convinced  her  of  noth 
ing  but  a  force  as  yet  unclassified  in  the  scientific 
categories  and  all  her  interest  lay  in  the  undeveloped 
powers  of  brain  which  might  be  discovered  in  the 
course  of  ignorant  and  credulous  experiment.  We 
met  therefore  on  the  common  ground  of  rejection  of 


30  THE  NINTH  VIBRATION 

the  so-called  occultism  of  the  day,  though  I  knew  even 
then,  and  how  infinitely  better  now,  that  her  con 
structions  were  wholly  misleading. 

Nearly  all  day  she  would  lie  in  her  chair  under  the 
deodars  by  the  delicate  splash  and  ripple  of  the  steam. 
Living  imprisoned  in  the  crystal  sphere  of  the  intellect 
she  saw  the  world  outside,  painted  in  few  but  distinct 
colours,  small,  comprehensible,  moving  on  a  logical 
orbit.  I  never  knew  her  posed  for  an  explanation. 
She  had  the  contented  atheism  of  a  certain  type  of 
French  mind  and  found  as  much  ease  in  it  as  another 
kind  of  sweet  woman  does  in  her  rosary  and  con 
fessional. 

"I  cannot  interest  Brynhild,"  she  said,  when  I  knew 
her  better.  "She  has  no  affinity  with  science.  She 
is  simply  a  nature  worshipper,  and  in  such  places  as 
this  she  seems  to  draw  life  from  the  inanimate  life 
about  her.  I  have  sometimes  wondered  whether  she 
might  not  be  developed  into  a  kind  of  bridge  between 
the  articulate  and  the  inarticulate,  so  well  does  she 
understand  trees  and  flowers.  Her  father  was  like 
that — he  had  all  sorts  of  strange  power  with  animals 
and  plants,  and  thought  he  had  more  than  he  had. 
He  could  never  realize  that  the  energy  of  nature  is 
merely  mechanical." 

"You  think  all  energy  is  mechanical?" 

"Certainly.  We  shall  lay  our  finger  on  the  main 
spring  one  day  and  the  mystery  will  disappear.  But 


THE  NINTH  VIBRATION  31 

as  for  Brynhild — I  gave  her  the  best  education 
possible  and  yet  she  has  never  understood  the  con 
ception  of  a  universe  moving  on  mathematical  laws 
to  which  we  must  submit  in  body  and  mind.  She 
has  the  oddest  ideas.  I  would  not  willingly  say  of  a 
child  of  mine  that  she  is  a  mystic,  and  yet — " 

She  shook  her  head  compassionately.  But  I 
scarcely  heard.  My  eyes  were  fixed  on  Brynhild,  who 
stood  apart,  looking  steadily  out  over  the  snows.  It 
was  a  glorious  sunset,  the  west  vibrating  with  gorgeous 
colour  spilt  over  in  torrents  that  flooded  the  sky. 
Terrible  splendours — hues  for  which  we  have  no 
thought — no  name.  I  had  not  thought  of  it  as  music 
until  I  saw  her  face  but  she  listened  as  well  as  saw, 
and  her  expression  changed  as  it  changes  when  the 
pomp  of  a  great  orchestra  breaks  upon  the  silence. 
It  flashed  to  the  chords  of  blood-red  and  gold  that  was 
burning  fire.  It  softened  through  the  fugue  of  woven 
crimson  gold  and  flame,  to  the  melancholy  minor  of 
ashes-of-roses  and  paling  green,  and  so  through  all 
the  dying  glories  that  faded  slowly  to  a  tranquil  grey 
and  left  the  world  to  the  silver  melody  of  one  sole 
star  that  dawned  above  the  ineffable  heights  of  the 
snows.  Then  she  listened  as  a  child  does  to  a  bird, 
entranced,  with  a  smile  like  a  butterfly  on  her  parted 
lips.  I  never  saw  such  a  power  of  quiet. 

She  and  I  were  walking  next  day  among  the  forest 
ways,  the  pine-scented  sunshine  dappling  the  dropped 


32  THE  NINTH  VIBRATION 

frondage.  We  had  been  speaking  of  her  mother. 
"It  is  such  a  misfortune  for  her,"  she  said  thought 
fully,  "that  I  am  not  clever.  She  should  have  had 
a  daughter  who  could  have  shared  her  thoughts.  She 
analyses  everything,  reasons  about  everything,  and 
that  is  quite  out  of  my  reach." 

She  moved  beside  me  with  her  wonderful  light  step 
— the  poise  and  balance  of  a  nymph  in  the  Parthenon 
frieze. 

"How  do  you  see  things?" 

"See?  That  is  the  right  word.  I  see  things — I 
never  reason  about  them.  They  are.  For  her  they 
move  like  figures  in  a  sum.  For  me  every  one  of 
them  is  a  window  through  which  one  may  look  to  what 
is  beyond." 

"To  where?" 

"To  what  they  really  are — not  what  they  seem." 

I  looked  at  her  with  interest. 

"Did  you  ever  hear  of  the  double  vision?" 

For  this  is  a  subject  on  which  the  spiritually 
learned  men  of  India,  like  the  great  mystics  of  all 
the  faiths,  have  much  to  say.  I  had  listened  with 
bewilderment  and  doubt  to  the  expositions  of  my 
Pandit  on  this  very  head.  Her  simple  words  seemed 
for  a  moment  the  echo  of  his  deep  and  searching 
thought.  Yet  it  surely  could  not  be.  Impossible. 

"Never.  What  does  it  mean?"  She  raised  clear 
unveiled  eyes.  "You  must  forgive  me  for  being  so 


THE  NINTH  VIBRATION  33 

stupid,  but  it  is  my  mother  who  is  at  home  with  all 
these  scientific  phrases.  I  know  none  of  them." 

"It  means  that  for  some  people  the  material 
universe — the  things  we  see  with  our  eyes — is  only  a 
mirage,  or  say,  a  symbol,  which  either  hides  or 
shadows  forth  the  eternal  truth.  And  in  that  sense 
they  see  things  as  they  really  are,  not  as  they  seem  to 
the  rest  of  us.  And  whether  this  is  the  statement  of 
a  truth  or  the  wildest  of  dreams,  I  cannot  tell." 

She  did  not  answer  for  a  moment;  then  said; 

"Are  there  people  who  believe  this — know  it?" 

"Certainly.  There  are  people  who  believe  that 
thought  is  the  only  real  thing — that  the  whole  universe 
is  thought  made  visible.  That  we  create  with  our 
thoughts  the  very  body  by  which  we  shall  re-act  on  the 
universe  in  lives  to  be." 

"Do  you  believe  it?" 

"I  don't  know.     Do  you?" 

She  paused;  looked  at  me,  and  then  went  on: 

"You  see,  I  don't  think  things  out.  I  only  feel. 
But  this  cannot  interest  you." 

I  felt  she  was  eluding  the  question.  She  began  to 
interest  me  more  than  any  one  I  had  ever  known. 
She  had  extraordinary  power  of  a  sort.  Once,  in  the 
woods,  where  I  was  reading  in  so  deep  a  shade  that 
she  never  saw  me,  I  had  an  amazing  vision  of  her. 
She  stood  in  a  glade  with  the  sunlight  and  shade 
about  her;  she  had  no  hat  and  a  sunbeam  turned  her 


34  THE  NINTH  VIBRATION 

hair  to  pale  bronze.  A  small  bright  April  shower 
was  falling  through  the  sun,  and  she  stood  in  pure 
light  that  reflected  itself  in  every  leaf  and  grass-blade. 
But  it  was  nothing  of  all  this  that  arrested  me, 
beautiful  as  it  was.  She  stood  as  though  life  were 
for  the  moment  suspended; — then,  very  softly,  she 
made  a  low  musical  sound,  infinitely  wooing,  from 
scarcely  parted  lips,  and  instantly  I  saw  a  bird  of 
azure  plumage  flutter  down  and  settle  on  her 
shoulder,  pluming  himself  there  in  happy  security. 
Again  she  called  softly  and  another  followed  the  first. 
Two  flew  to  her  feet,  two  more  to  her  breast  and  hand. 
They  caressed  her,  clung  to  her,  drew  some  joyous 
influence  from  her  presence.  She  stood  in  the  glitter 
ing  rain  like  Spring  with  her  birds  about  her — a 
wonderful  sight.  Then,  raising  one  hand  gently  with 
the  fingers  thrown  back  she  uttered  a  different  note, 
perfectly  sweet  and  intimate,  and  the  branches  parted 
and  a  young  deer  with  full  bright  eyes  fixed  on  her 
advanced  and  pushed  a  soft  muzzle  into  her  hand. 

In  my  astonishment  I  moved,  however  slightly,  and 
the  picture  broke  up.  The  deer  sprang  back  into  the 
trees,  the  birds  fluttered  up  in  a  hurry  of  feathers,  and 
she  turned  calm  eyes  upon  me,  as  unstartled  as  if  she 
had  known  all  the  time  that  I  was  there. 

"You  should  not  have  breathed."  she  said  smil 
ing.  "They  must  have  utter  quiet." 

I  rose  and  joined  her. 


THE  NINTH  VIBRATION  35 

"It  is  «  marvel.  I  can  scarcely  believe  my  eyes. 
How  do  you  do  it?" 

"My  father  taught  me.  They  come.  How  can  I 
tell?" 

She  turned  away  and  left  me.  I  thought  long  over 
this  episode.  I  recalled  words  heard  in  the  place  of 
my  studies — words  I  had  dismissed  without  any  care 
at  the  moment.  "To  those  who  see,  nothing  is  alien. 
They  move  in  the  same  vibration  with  all  that  has  life, 
be  it  in  bird  or  flower.  And  in  the  Uttermost  also, 
for  all  things  are  One.  For  such  there  is  no  death." 

That  was  beyond  me  still,  but  I  watched  her  with 
profound  interest.  She  recalled  also  words  I  had 
half  forgotten — 

"There  was  nought  above  me  and  nought  below, 

My  childhood  had  not  learnt  to  know; 

For  what  are  the  voices  of  birds, 

Aye,  and  of  beasts,  but  words,  our  words, — 

Only  so  much  more  sweet." 

That  might  have  been  written  of  her.     And  more. 

She  had  found  one  day  in  the  woods  a  flower  of  a 
sort  I  had  once  seen  in  the  warm  damp  forests  below 
Darjiling — ivory  white  and  shaped  like  a  dove  in 
flight.  She  wore  it  that  evening  on  her  bosom.  A 
week  later  she  wore  what  I  took  to  be  another. 

"You  have  had  luck,"  I  said;  "I  never  heard  of 
such  a  thing  being  seen  so  high  up,  and  you  have 
found  it  twice." 


36  THE  NINTH  VIBRATION 

"No,  it  is  the  same." 

"The  same?  Impossible.  You  found  it  more 
than  a  week  ago." 

"I  know.  It  is  ten  days.  Flowers  don't  die  when 
one  understands  them — not  as  most  people  think." 

Her  mother  looked  up  and  said  fretfully: 

"Since  she  was  a  child  Brynhild  has  had  that  odd 
idea.  That  flower  is  dead  and  withered.  Throw  it 
away,  child.  It  looks  hideous." 

Was  it  glamour?  What  was  it?  I  saw  the  flower 
dewy  fresh  in  her  bosom.  She  smiled  and  turned 
away. 

It  was  that  very  evening  she  left  the  veranda  where 
we  were  sitting  in  the  subdued  light  of  a  little  lamp 
and  passed  beyond  where  the  ray  cut  the  darkness. 
She  went  down  the  perspective  of  trees  to  the  edge  of 
the  clearing  and  I  rose  to  follow  for  it  seemed 
absolutely  unsafe  that  she  should  be  on  the  verge  of 
the  panther-haunted  woods  alone.  Mrs.  Ingmar 
turned  a  page  of  her  book  serenely; 

"She  will  not  like  it  if  you  go.  I  cannot  imagine 
that  she  should  come  to  harm.  She  always  goes  her 
own  way — light  or  dark." 

I  returned  to  my  seat  and  watched  steadfastly. 
At  first  I  could  see  nothing  but  as  my  sight  adjusted 
itself  I  saw  her  a  long  way  down  the  clearing  that 
opened  the  snows,  and  quite  certainly  also  I  saw 
something  like  a  huge  dog  detach  itself  from  the 


THE  NINTH  VIBRATION  37 

woods  and  bound  to  her  feet.  It  mingled  with  her 
dark  dress  and  I  lost  it.  Mrs.  Ingmar  said,  seeing 
my  anxiety  but  nothing  else;  "Her  father  was  just 
the  same; — he  had  no  fear  of  anything  that  lives. 
No  doubt  some  people  have  that  power.  I  have 
never  seen  her  attract  birds  and  beasts  as  he  certainly 
did,  but  she  is  quite  as  fond  of  them." 

I  could  not  understand  her  blindness — what  I  my 
self  had  seen  raised  questions  I  found  unanswerable, 
and  her  mother  saw  nothing!  Which  of  us  was 
right?  Presently  she  came  back  slowly  and  I  ven 
tured  no  word. 

A  woodland  sorcery,  innocent  as  the  dawn,  hov 
ered  about  her.  What  was  it?  Did  the  mere  love 
of  these  creatures  make  a  bond  between  her  soul  and 
theirs,  or  was  the  ancient  dream  true  and  could  she 
at  times  move  in  the  same  vibration?  I  thought  of 
her  as  a  wood-spirit  sometimes,  an  expression  her 
self  of  some  passion  of  beauty  in  Nature,  a  thought 
of  snows  and  starry  nights  and  flowing  rivers  made 
visible  in  flesh.  It  is  surely  when  seized  with  the 
urge  of  some  primeval  yearning  which  in  man  is 
merely  sexual  that  Nature  conceives  her  fair  forms 
and  manifests  them,  for  there  is  a  correspondence 
that  runs  through  all  creation. 

Here  I  ask  myself — Did  I  love  her?  In  a  sense, 
yes,  deeply,  but  not  in  the  common  reading  of  the 
phrase.  I  have  trembled  with  delight  before  the 


38  THE  NINTH  VIBRATION 

wild  and  terrible  splendour  of  the  Himalayan 
heights — ;  low  golden  moons  have  steeped  my  soul 
in  longing,  but  I  did  not  think  of  these  things  as  mine 
in  any  narrow  sense,  nor  so  desire  them.  They  were 
the  Angels  of  the  Evangel  of  beauty.  So  too  was 
she.  She  had  none  of  the  "silken  nets  and  traps  of 
adamant,"  she  was  no  sister  of  the  "girls  of  mild 
silver  or  of  furious  gold;" — but  fair,  strong,  and  her 
own,  a  dweller  in  the  House  of  Quiet.  I  did  not 
covet  her.  I  loved  her. 

Days  passed.  There  came  a  night  when  the  winds 
were  loosed — no  moon,  the  stars  flickering  like  blown 
tapers  through  driven  clouds,  the  trees  swaying  and 
lamenting. 

"There  will  be  rain  tomorrow."  Mrs.  Ingmar  said, 
as  we  parted  for  the  night.  I  closed  my  door. 
Some  great  cat  of  the  woods  was  crying  harshly  out 
side  my  window,  the  sound  receding  towards  the 
bridle  way.  I  slept  in  a  dream  of  tossing  seas  and 
ships  labouring  among  them. 

With  the  sense  of  a  summons  I  waked — I  cannot 
tell  when.  Unmistakable,  as  if  I  were  called  by 
name.  I  rose  and  dressed,  and  heard  distinctly  bare 
feet  passing  my  door.  I  opened  it  noiselessly  and 
looked  out  into  the  little  passage  way  that  made  for 
the  entry,  and  saw  nothing  but  pools  of  darkness  and 
a  dim  light  from  the  square  of  the  window  at  the  end. 
But  the  wind  had  swept  the  sky  clear  with  its  flying 


THE  NINTH  VIBRATION  39 

besom  and  was  sleeping  now  in  its  high  places  and 
the  air  was  filled  with  a  mild  moony  radiance  and  a 
great  stillness. 

Now  let  me  speak  with  restraint  and  exactness.  I 
was  not  afraid  but  felt  as  I  imagine  a  dog  feels  in  the 
presence  of  his  master,  conscious  of  a  purpose,  a 
will  entirely  above  his  own  and  incomprehensible, 
yet  to  be  obeyed  without  question.  I  followed  my 
reading  of  the  command,  bewildered  but  docile,  and 
understanding  nothing  but  that  I  was  called. 

The  lights  were  out.  The  house  dead  silent;  the 
familiar  veranda  ghostly  in  the  night.  And  now  I 
saw  a  white  figure  at  the  head  of  the  steps — Brynhild. 
She  turned  and  looked  over  her  shoulder,  her  face 
pale  in  the  moon,  and  made  the  same  gesture  with 
which  she  summoned  her  birds.  I  knew  her  mean 
ing,  for  now  we  were  moving  in  the  same  rhythm, 
and  followed  as  she  took  the  lead.  How  shall  I  de 
scribe  that  strange  night  in  the  jungle.  There  were 
fire-flies  or  dancing  points  of  light  that  recalled  them. 
Perhaps  she  was  only  thinking  them — only  thinking 
the  moon  and  the  quiet,  for  we  were  in  the  world 
where  thought  is  the  one  reality.  But  they  went 
with  us  in  a  cloud  and  faintly  lighted  our  way. 
There  were  exquisite  wafts  of  perfume  from  hidden 
flowers  breathing  their  dreams  to  the  night.  Here 
and  there  a  drowsy  bird  stirred  and  chirped  from  the 
roof  of  darkness,  a  low  note  of  content  that  greeted 


40  THE  NINTH  VIBRATION 

her  passing.  It  was  a  path  intricate  and  winding 
and  how  long  we  went,  and  where,  I  cannot  tell.  But 
at  last  she  stooped  and  parting  the  boughs  before  her 
we  stepped  into  an  open  space,  and  before  us — I 
knew  it — I  knew  it! — The  House  of  Beauty. 

She  paused  at  the  foot  of  the  great  marble  steps 
and  looked  at  me. 

"We  have  met  here  already." 

I  did  not  wonder — I  could  not.  In  the  Ninth 
Vibration  surprise  has  ceased  to  be.  Why  had  I 
not  recognized  her  before — 0  dull  of  heart!  That 
was  my  only  thought.  We  walk  blindfold  through 
the  profound  darkness  of  material  nature,  the  blinder 
because  we  believe  we  see  it.  It  is  only  when  the 
doors  of  the  material  are  closed  that  the  world  ap 
pears  to  man  as  it  exists  in  the  eternal  truth. 

"Did  you  know  this?1"  I  asked,  trembling  before 
the  mystery. 

"I  knew  it,  because  I  am  awake.  You  forgot  it 
in  the  dull  sleep  which  we  call  daily  life.  But  we 
were  here  and  THEY  began  the  story  of  the  King 
who  made  this  house.  Tonight  we  shall  hear  it.  It 
is  the  story  of  Beauty  wandering  through  the  world 
and  the  world  received  her  not.  We  hear  it  in  this 
place  because  here  he  agonized  for  what  he  knew  too 
late." 

"Was  that  our  only  meeting?" 

"We  meet  every  night,  but  you  forget  when  the 


THE  NINTH  VIBRATION  41 

day  brings  the  sleep  of  the  soul. — You  do  not  sink 
deep  enough  into  rest  to  remember.  You  float  on 
the  surface  where  the  little  bubbles  of  foolish  dream 
are  about  you  and  I  cannot  reach  you  then." 

"How  can  I  compel  myself  to  the  deeps?" 

"You  cannot.  It  will  come.  But  when  you  have 
passed  up  the  bridle  way  and  beyond  the  Shipki, 
stop  at  Gyumur.  There  is  the  Monastery  of  Tashi- 
gong,  and  there  one  will  meet  you — " 

"His  name?" 

"Stephen  Clifden.  He  will  tell  you  what  you 
desire  to  know.  Continue  on  then  with  him  to  Yark- 
hand.  There  in  the  Ninth  Vibration  we  shall  meet 
again.  It  is  a  long  journey  but  you  will  be  content.1" 

"Do  you  certainly  know  that  we  shall  meet  again?" 

"When  you  have  learnt,  we  can  meet  when  we 
will.  He  will  teach  you  the  Laya  Yoga.  You 
should  not  linger  here  in  the  woods  any  longer.  You 
should  go  on.  In  three  days  it  will  be  possible." 

"But  how  have  you  learnt — a  girl  and  young?" 

"Through  a  close  union  with  Nature — that  is  one 
of  the  three  roads.  But  I  know  little  as  yet.  Now 
take  my  hand  and  come." 

"On;e  last  question.  Is  this  house  ruined  and 
abject  as  I  have  seen  it  in  the  daylight,  or  royal  and 
the  house  of  Gods  as  we  see  it  now?  Which  is 
truth?" 

"In  the  day  you  saw  it  in  the  empty  illusion  of 


42  THE  NINTH  VIBRATION 

a  blind  thought.  Tonight,  eternally  lovely  as  in 
the  thought  of  the  man  who  made  it.  Nothing 
that  is  beautiful  is  lost,  though  in  the  sight  of  the  un 
wise  it  seems  to  die.  Death  is  in  the  eyes  we  look 
through — when  they  are  cleansed  we  see  Life  only. 
Now  take  my  hand  and  come.  Delay  no  more." 

She  caught  my  hand  and  we  entered  the  dim  mag 
nificence  of  the  great  hall.  The  moon  entered  with 
us. 

Instantly  I  had  the  feeling  of  supernatural  pres 
ence.  Yet  I  only  write  this  in  deference  to  common 
use,  for  it  was  absolutely  natural — more  so  than  any 
I  have  met  in  the  state  called  daily  life.  It  was  a 
thing  in  which  I  had  a  part,  and  if  this  was  super 
natural  so  also  Was  I. 

Again  I  saw  the  Dark  One,  the  Beloved,  the  young 
Krishna,  above  the  women  who  loved  him.  He  mo 
tioned  with  his  hand  as  we  passed,  as  though  he 
waved  us  smiling  on  our  way.  Again  the  dancers 
moved  in  a  rhythmic  tread  to  the  feet  of  the  mountain 
Goddess — again  we  followed  to  Where  she  bent  to 
hear.  But  now,  solemn  listening  faces  crowded  in 
the  shadows  about  her,  grave  eyes  fixed  immovably 
upon  what  lay  at  her  feet — a  man,  submerged  in  the 
pure  light  that  fell  from  her  presence,  his  dark  face 
stark  and  fine,  lips  locked,  eyes  shut,  arms  flung  out 
cross-wise  in  utter  abandonment,  like  a  figure  of 
grief  invisibly  crucified  upon  his  shame.  I  stopped 


THE  NINTH  VIBRATION  43 

a  few  feet  from  him,  arrested  by  a  barrier  I  could  not 
pass.  Was  it  sleep  or  death  or  some  mysterious 
state  that  partook  of  both?  Not  sleep,  for  there  was 
no  flutter  of  breath.  Not  death — no  rigid  immo 
bility  struck  chill  into  the  air.  It  was  the  state  of 
subjection  where  the  spirit  set  free  lies  tranced  in 
the  mighty  influences  which  surround  us  invisibly 
until  we  have  entered,  though  but  for  a  moment,  the 
Ninth  Vibration. 

And  now,  with  these  Listeners  about  us,  a  clear 
voice  began  and  stirred  the  air  with  music.  I  have 
since  been  asked  in  what  tongue  it  spoke  and  could 
only  answer  that  it  reached  my  ears  in  the  words  of 
my  childhood,  and  that  I  know  whatever  that  lan 
guage  had  been  it  would  so  have  reached  me. 

"Great  Lady,  hear  the  story  of  this  man's  fall,  for 
it  is  the  story  of  man.  Be  pitiful  to  the  blind  eyes 
and  give  them  light. 

There  was  long  since  in  Ranipur  a  mighty  King 
and  at  his  birth  the  wise  men  declared  that  unless  he 
cast  aside  all  passions  that  debase  the  soul,  re 
linquishing  the  lower  desires  for  the  higher  until  a 
Princess  laden  with  great  gifts  should  come  to  be  his 
bride,  he  would  experience  great  and  terrible  mis 
fortunes.  And  his  royal  parents  did  what  they  could 
to  possess  him  with  this  belief,  but  they  died  before 
he  reached  manhood.  Behold  him  then,  a  young 
King  in  his  palace,  surrounded  with  splendour.  How 


44  THE  NINTH  VIBRATION 

should  he  withstand  the  passionate  crying  of  the  flesh 
or  believe  that  through  pleasure  comes  satiety  and  the 
loss  of  that  in  the  spirit  whereby  alone  pleasure  can 
be  enjoyed?  For  his  gift  was  that  he  could  win  all 
hearts.  They  swarmed  round  him  like  hiving  bees 
and  hovered  about  him  like  butterflies.  Sometimes 
he  brushed  them  off.  Often  he  caressed  them,  and 
when  this  happened,  each  thought  proudly  "I  am  the 
Royal  Favourite.  There  is  none  other  than  me." 

Also  the  Princess  delayed  who  would  be  the  crest- 
jewel  of  the  crown,  bringing  with  her  all  good  and 
the  blessing  of  the  High  Gods,  and  in  consequence  of 
all  these  things  the  King  took  such  pleasures  as  he 
could,  and  they  were  many,  not  knowing  they  darken 
the  inner  eye  whereby  what  is  royal  is  known  through 
all  disguises. 

(Most  pitiful  to  see,  beneath  the  close-shut  lids  of 
the  man  at  the  feet  of  the  Dweller  in  the  Heights,  tears 
forced  themselves,  as  though  a  corpse  dead  to  all  else 
lived  only  to  anguish.  They  flowed  like  blood-drops 
upon  his  face  as  he  lay  enduring,  and  the  voice 
proceeded.)  What  was  the  charm  of  the  King? 
Was  it  his  stately  height  and  strength?  Or  his  faith 
less  gayety?  Or  his  voice,  deep  and  soft  as  the  sitar 
when  it  sings  of  love?  His  women  said — some  one 
thing,  some  another,  but  none  of  these  ladies  were  of 
royal  blood,  and  therefore  they  knew  not. 


THE  NINTH  VIBRATION  45 

Now  one  day,  the  all-privileged  jester  of  the  King, 
said,  laughing  harshly; 

"Maharaj,  you  divert  yourself.  But  how  if, 
while  we  feast  and  play,  the  Far-Away  Princess 
glided  past  and  was  gone,  unknown  and  unwel- 
comed?" 

And  the  King  replied: 

"Fool,  content  yourself.  I  shall  know  my 
Princess,  but  she  delays  so  long  that  I  weary." 

Now  in  a  far  away  country  was  a  Princess,  daughter 
of  the  Greatest,  and  her  Father  hesitated  to  give  her 
in  marriage  to  such  a  King  for  all  reported  that  he 
was  faithless  of  heart,  but  having  seen  his  portrait  she 
loved  him  and  fled  in  disguise  from  the  palaces  of  her 
Father,  and  being  captured  she  was  brought  before 
the  King  in  Ranipur. 

He  sat  upon  a  cloth  of  gold  and  about  him  was  the 
game  he  had  killed  in  hunting,  in  great  masses  of 
ruffled  fur  and  plumage,  and  he  turned  the  beauty  of 
his  face  carelessly  upon  her,  and  as  the  Princess 
looked  upon  him,  her  heart  yearned  to  him,  and  he 
said  in  his  voice  that  was  like  the  male  string  of  the 
sitar; 

"Little  slave,  what  is  your  desire?" 

Then  she  saw  that  the  long  journey  had  scarred 
her  feet  and  dimmed  her  hair  with  dust,  and  that 
the  King's  eyes,  worn  with  days  and  nights  of  pleas- 


46  THE  NINTH  VIBRATION 

tire  did  not  pierce  her  disguise.  Now  in  her  land 
it  is  a  custom  that  the  blood  royal  must  not  proclaim 
itself,  so  she  folded  her  hands  and  said  gently; 

"A  place  in  the  household  of  the  King." 

And  he,  hearing  that  the  waiting  slave  of  his  chief 
favorite  Jayashri  was  dead,  gave  her  that  place.  So 
the  Princess  attended  on  those  ladies,  courteous  and 
obedient  to  all  authority  as  beseemed  her  royalty, 
and  she  braided  her  bright  hair  so  that  it  hid  the  little 
crown  which  the  Princesses  of  her  House  must  wear 
always  in  token  of  their  rank,  and  every  day  her 
patience  strengthened. 

Sometimes  the  King,  carelessly  desiring  her 
laughing  face  and  sad  eyes,  would  send  for  her  to 
wile  away  an  hour,  and  he  would  say;  "Dance,  little 
slave,  and  tell  me  stories  of  the  far  countries.  You 
are  quite  unlike  my  women,  doubtless  because  you  are 
a  slave." 

And  she  thought — "No,  but  because  I  am  a 
Princess," — but  this  she  did  not  say.  She  laughed 
and  told  him  the  most  marvellous  stories  in  the  world 
until  he  laid  his  head  upon  her  warm  bosom,  dream 
ing  awake. 

There  were  stories  of  the  great  Himalayan  solitudes 
where  in  the  winter  nights  the  white  tiger  stares  at  the 
witches'  dance  of  the  Northern  Lights  dazzled  by  the 
hurtling  of  their  myriad  spears.  And  she  told  how 


THE  NINTH  VIBRATION  47 

the  King-eagle,  hanging  motionless  over  the  peaks  of 
Gaurisankar,  watches  with  golden  eyes  for  his  prey, 
and  falling  like  a  plummet  strikes  its  life  out  with 
his  clawed  heel  and,  screaming  with  triumph,  bears 
it  to  his  fierce  mate  in  her  cranny  of  the  rocks. 

"A  gallant  story!"  the  King  would  say.     "More!" 

Then  she  told  of  the  tropical  heats  and  the  stealthy 
deadly  creatures  of  forest  and  jungle,  and  the  blue 
lotus  of  Buddha  swaying  on  the  still  lagoon, — And 
she  spoke  of  loves  of  men  and  women,  their  passion 
and  pain  and  joy.  And  when  she  told  of  their  fidelity 
and  valour  and  honour  that  death  cannot  quench,  her 
voice  was  like  the  song  of  a  minstrel,  for  she  had 
read  all  the  stories  of  the  ages  and  the  heart  of  a 
Princess  told  her  the  rest.  And  the  King  listened 
unwearying  though  he  believed  this  was  but  a  slave. 

(The  face  of  the  man  at  the  feet  of  the  Dweller  in 
the  Heights  twitched  in  a  white  agony.  Pearls  of 
sweat  were  distilled  upon  his  brows,  but  he  moved 
neither  hand  nor  foot,  enduring  as  in  a  flame  of  fire. 
And  the  voice  continued.) 

So  one  day,  in  the  misty  green  of  the  Spring,  while 
she  rested  at  his  feet  in  the  garden  Pavilion,  he  said 
to  her; 

"Little  slave,  why  do  you  love  me?" 

And  she  answered  proudly: 

"Because  you  have  the  heart  of  a  King.'" 


48  THE  NINTH  VIBRATION 

He  replied  slowly; 

"Of  the  women  who  have  loved  me  none  gave  this 
reason,  though  they  gave  many." 

She  laid  her  cheek  on  his  hand. 

"That  is  the  true  reason." 

But  he  drew  it  away  and  was  vaguely  troubled,  for 
her  words,  he  knew  not  why,  reminded  him  of  the 
Far  Away  Princess  and  of  things  he  had  long 
forgotten,  and  he  said;  "What  does  a  slave  know  of 
the  hearts  of  Kings?"  And  that  night  he  slept  or 
waked  alone. 

Winter  was  at  hand  with  its  blue  and  cloudless 
days,  and  she  was  commanded  to  meet  the  King  where 
the  lake  lay  still  and  shining  like  an  ecstasy  of  bliss, 
and  she  waited  with  her  chin  dropped  into  the  cup  of 
her  hands,  looking  over  the  water  with  eyes  that  did 
not  see,  for  her  whole  soul  said;  "How  long  0  my 
Sovereign  Lord,  how  long  before  you  know  the  truth 
and  we  enter  together  into  our  Kingdom?" 

As  she  sat  she  heard  the  King's  step,  and  the  colour 
stole  up  into  her  face  in  a  flush  like  the  earliest  sun 
rise.  "He  is  coming."  she  said;  and  again;  "He 
loves  me." 

So  he  came  beside  the  water,  walking  slowly.  But 
the  King  was  not  alone.  His  arm  embraced  the 
latest-come  beauty  from  Samarkhand,  and,  with  his 
head  bent,  he  whispered  in  her  willing  ear. 

Then  clasping  her  hands,  the  Princess  drew  a  long 


THE  NINTH  VIBRATION  49 

sobbing  breath,  and  he  turned  and  his  eyes  grew 
hard  as  blue  steel. 

"Go,  slave,"  he  cried,  "What  place  have  you  in 
Kings'  gardens?  Go.  Let  me  see  you  no  more." 

(The  man  lying  at  the  feet  of  the  Dweller  in  the 
Heights,  raised  a  heavy  arm  and  flung  it  above  his 
head,  despairing,  and  it  fell  again  on  the  cross  of  his 
torment.  And  the  voice  went  on.) 

And  as  he  said  this,  her  heart  broke;  and  she  went 
and  her  feet  were  weary.  So  she  took  the  wise  book 
she  loved  and  unrolled  it  until  she  came  to  a  certain 
passage,  and  this  she  read  twice; 

"If  the  heart  of  a  slave  be  broken  it  may  be  mended 
with  jewels  and  soft  words,  but  the  heart  of  a  Princess 
can  be  healed  only  by  the  King  who  broke  it,  or  in 
Yamapura,  the  City  under  the  Sunset  where  they  make 
all  things  new.  Now,  Yama,  the  Lord  of  this  City, 
is  the  Lord  of  Death."  And  having  thus  read  the 
Princess  rolled  the  book  and  put  it  from  her. 

And  next  day,  the  King  said  to  his  women;  "Send 
for  her,"  for  his  heart  smote  him  and  he  desired  to 
atone  royally  for  the  shame  of  his  speech.  And  they 
sought  and  came  back  saying; 

"Maharaj,  she  is  gone.     We  cannot  find  her." 

Fear  grew  in  the  heart  of  the  King — a  nameless 
dread,  and  he  said,  "Search."  And  again  they 
sought  and  returned  and  the  King  was  striding  up  and 
down  the  great  hall  and  none  dared  cross  his  path. 


50  THE  NINTH  VIBRATION 

But,  trembling,  they  told  him,  and  he  replied; 
"Search  again.  I  will  not  lose  her,  and,  slave  though 
she  be,  she  shall  be  my  Queen/' 

So  they  ran,  dispersing  to  the  Four  Quarters,  and 
the  King  strode  up  and  down  the  hall,  and  Loneliness 
kept  step  with  him  and  clasped  his  hand  and  looked 
into  his  eyes. 

Then  the  youngest  of  the  women  entered  with  a  tale 
to  tell. 

"Majesty,  we  have  found  her.  She  lies  beside  the 
lake.  When  the  birds  fled  this  morning  she  fled  with 
them,  but  upon  a  longer  journey.  Even  to  Yama- 
pura,  the  City  under  the  Sunset." 

And  the  King  said;  "Let  none  follow."  And  he 
strode  forth  swiftly,  white  with  thoughts  he  dared  not 
think. 

The  Princess  lay  among  the  gold  of  the  fallen 
leaves.  All  was  gold,  for  her  bright  hair  was  out 
spread  in  shining  waves  and  in  it  shone  the  glory  of 
the  hidden  crown.  On  her  face  was  no  smile — only 
at  last  was  revealed  the  patience  she  had  covered  with 
laughter  so  long  that  even  the  voice  of  the  King 
could  not  now  break  it  into  joy.  The  hands  that  had 
clung,  the  swift  feet  that  had  run  beside  his,  the 
tender  body,  mighty  to  serve  and  to  love,  lay  within 
touch,  but  farther  away  than  the  uttermost  star  was 
the  Far  Away  Princess,  known  and  loved  too  late. 


THE  NINTH  VIBRATION  51 

And  he  said;  "My  Princess — 0,  my  Princess!"  and 
laid  his  head  on  her  cold  bosom. 

"Too  late!"  a  harsh  voice  croaked  beside  him,  and 
it  was  the  voice  of  the  Jester  who  mocks  at  all  things. 
"Too  late!  0  madness,  to  despise  the  blood  royal  be 
cause  it  humbled  itself  to  service  and  so  was  doubly 
royal.  The  Far  Away  Princess  came  laden  with 
great  gifts,  and  to  her  the  King's  gift  was  the  wage 
of  a  slave  and  a  broken  heart.  Cast  your  crown  and 
sceptre  in  the  dust,  0  King — 0  King  of  Fools." 

(The  man  at  the  feet  of  the  Dweller  in  the  Heights 
moved.  Some  dim  word  shaped  upon  his  locked  lips. 
She  listened  in  a  divine  calm.  It  seemed  that  the 
very  Gods  drew  nearer.  Again  the  man  essayed 
speech,  the  body  dead,  life  only  in  the  words  that 
none  could  hear.  The  voice  went  on.) 

But  the  Princess  flying  wearily  because  of  the  sore 
wound  in  her  heart,  came  at  last  to  the  City  under  the 
Sunset,  where  the  Lord  of  Death  rules  in  the  House 
of  Quiet,  and  was  there  received  with  royal  honours 
for  in  that  land  are  no  disguises.  And  she  knelt  be 
fore  the  Secret  One  and  in  a  voice  broken  with  agony 
entreated  him  to  heal  her.  And  with  veiled  and 
pitying  eyes  he  looked  upon  her,  for  many  and 
grievous  as  are  the  wounds  he  has  healed  this  was 
more  grievous  still.  And  he  said; 

"Princess.  I  cannot,  But  this  I  can  do — I  can  give  a 


52  THE  NINTH  VIBRATION 

new  heart  in  a  new  birth — happy  and  careless  as  the 
heart  of  a  child.  Take  this  escape  from  the  anguish 
you  endure  and  be^  at  peace." 

But  the  Princess,  white  with  pain,  asked  only; 

"In  this  new  heart  and  birth,  is  there  room  for  the 
King?? 

And  the  Lord  of  Peace  replied; 

"None.     He  too  will  be  forgotten." 

Then  she  rose  to  her  feet. 

"I  will  endure  and  when  he  comes  I  will  serve  him 
once  more.  If  he  will  he  shall  heal  me,  and  if  not  I 
will  endure  for  ever." 

And  He  who  is  veiled  replied; 

"In  this  sacred  City  no  pain  may  disturb  the  air, 
therefore  you  must  wait  outside  in  the  chill  and  the 
dark.  Think  better,  Princess!  Also,  he  must  pass 
through  many  rebirths,  because  he  beheld  the  face  of 
iBeauty  unveiled  and  knew  her  not.  And  when  he 
comes  he  will  be  weary  and  weak  as  a  new-born  child, 
and  no  more  a  great  King." 

And  the  Princess  smiled; 

"Then  he  will  need  me  the  more."  she  said;  "I 
will  wait  and  kiss  the  feet  of  my  King." 

And  the  Lord  of  Death  was  silent.  So  she  went 
outside  into  the  darkness  of  the  spaces,  and  the  souls 
set  free  passed  her  like  homing  doves,  and  she  sat 
with  her  hands  clasped  over  the  sore  wound  in  her 
heart,  watching  the  earthward  way.  And  the 


THE  NINTH  VIBRATION  53 

Princess  is  keeping  still  the  day  of  her  long  patience." 

The  voice  ceased.  And  there  was  a  great  silence, 
and  the  listening  faces  drew  nearer. 

Then  the  Dweller  in  the  Heights  spoke  in  a  voice 
soft  as  the  falling  of  snow  in  the  quiet  of  frost  and 
moon.  I  could  have  wept  myself  blind  with  joy  to 
hear  that  music.  More  I  dare  not  say. 

"He  is  in  the  Lower  State  of  Perception.  He 
sorrows  for  his  loss.  Let  him  have  one  instant's  light 
that  still  he  may  hope." 

She  bowed  above  the  man,  gazing  upon  him  as  a 
mother  might  upon  her  sleeping  child.  The  dead 
eyelids  stirred,  lifted,  a  faint  gleam  showed  beneath 
them,  an  unspeakable  weariness.  I  thought  they 
would  fall  unsatisfied.  Suddenly  he  saw  What 
looked  upon  him,  and  a  terror  of  joy  no  tongue  can 
tell  flashed  over  the  dark  mirror  of  his  face.  He 
stretched  a  faint  hand  to  touch  her  feet,  a  sobbing 
sigh  died  upon  his  lips,  and  once  more  the  swooning 
sleep  took  him.  He  lay  as  a  dead  man  before  the 
Assembly. 

"The  night  is  far  spent,"  a  voice  said,  from  I  know 
not  where.  And  I  knew  it  was  said  not  only  for  the 
sleeper  but  for  all,  for  though  the  flying  feet  of 
Beauty  seem  for  a  moment  to  outspeed  us  she  will 
one  day  wait  our  coming  and  gather  us  to  her  bosom. 

As  before,  the  vision  spread  outward  like  rings  in 
a  broken  reflection  in  water.  I  saw  the  girl  beside 


54  THE  NINTH  VIBRATION 

me,  but  her  hand  grew  light  in  mine.  I  felt  it  no 
longer.  I  heard  the  roaring  wind  in  the  trees,  or  was 
it  a  great  voice  thundering  in  my  ears?  Sleep  took 
me.  I  waked  in  my  little  room. 

Strange  and  sad — I  saw  her  next  day  and  did  not 
remember  her  whom  of  all  things  I  desired  to  know. 
I  remembered  the  vision  and  knew  that  whether  in 
dream  or  waking  I  had  heard  an  eternal  truth.  I 
longed  with  a  great  longing  to  meet  my  beautiful 
companion,  and  she  stood  at  my  side  and  I  was  blind. 

Now  that  I  have  climbed  a  little  higher  on  the 
Mount  of  Vision  it  seems  even  to  myself  that  this 
could  not  be.  Yet  it  was,  and  it  is  true  of  not  this 
only  but  of  how  much  else! 

She  knew  me.  I  learnt  that  later,  but  she  made  no 
sign.  Her  simplicities  had  carried  her  far  beyond 
and  above  me,  to  places  where  only  the  winged  things 
attain — "as  a  bird  among  the  bird-droves  of  God." 

I  have  since  known  that  this  power  of  direct 
simplicity  in  her  was  why  among  the  great  mountains 
we  beheld  the  Divine  as  the  emanation  of  the  terrible 
beauty  about  us.  We  cannot  see  it  as  it  is — only  in 
some  shadowing  forth,  gathering  sufficient  strength  for 
manifestation  from  the  spiritual  atoms  that  haunt  the 
region  where  that  form  has  been  for  ages  the  accepted 
vehicle  of  adoration.  But  I  was  now  to  set  forth  to 
find  another  knowledge — to  seek  the  Beauty  that 


THE  NINTH  VIBRATION  55 

blinds  us  to  all  other.  Next  day  the  man  who  was 
directing  my  preparations  for  travel  sent  me  word 
from  Simla  that  all  was  ready  and  I  could  start  two 
days  later.  I  told  my  friends  the  time  of  parting  was 
near. 

"But  it  was  no  surprise  to  me,"  I  added,  "for  I  had 
heard  already  that  in  a  very  few  days  I  should  be  on 
my  way." 

Mrs.  Ingmar  was  more  than  kind.  She  laid  a  frail 
hand  on  mine. 

"We  shall  miss  you  indeed.  If  it  is  possible  to 
send  us  word  of  your  adventures  in  those  wild  soli 
tudes  I  hope  you  will  do  it.  Of  course  aviation  will 
soon  lay  bare  their  secrets  and  leave  them  no 
mysteries,  so  you  don't  go  too  soon.  One  may 
worship  science  and  yet  feel  it  injures  the  beauty  of 
the  world.  But  what  is  beauty  compared  with  knowl 
edge?" 

"Do  you  never  regret  it?"  I  asked. 

"Never,  dear  Mr.  Ormond.  I  am  a  worshipper  of 
hard  facts  and  however  hideous  they  may  be  I  prefer 
them  to  the  prismatic  colours  of  romance." 

Brynhild,  smiling,  quoted; 

"Their  science  roamed  from  star  to  star 
And  than  itself  found  nothing  greater. 
What  wonder?     In  a  Leyden  jar 
They  bottled  the  Creator." 


56  THE  NINTH  VIBRATION 

"There  is  nothing  greater  than  science,'1'  said  Mrs 
Ingmar  with  soft  reverence.  "The  mind  of  man  is 
the  foot-rule  of  the  universe." 

She  meditated  for  a  moment  and  then  added  that 
my  kind  interests  in  their  plans  decided  her  to  tell  me 
that  she  would  be  returning  to  Europe  and  then  to 
Canada  in  a  few  months  with  a  favourite  niece  as  her 
companion  while  Brynhild  would  remain  in  India 
with  friends  in  Mooltan  for  a  time.  I  looked  eagerly 
at  her  but  she  was  lost  in  her  own  thoughts  and  it  was 
evidently  not  the  time  to  say  more. 

If  I  had  hoped  for  a  vision  before  I  left  the 
neighbourhood  of  that  strange  House  of  Beauty 
where  a  spirit  imprisoned  appeared  to  await  the  day 
of  enlightenment  I  was  disappointed.  These  things 
do  not  happen  as  one  expects  or  would  choose.  The 
wind  bloweth  where  it  listeth  until  the  laws  which 
govern  the  inner  life  are  understood,  and  then  we 
would  not  choose  if  we  could  for  we  know  that  all  is 
better  than  well.  In  this  world,  either  in  the  blinded 
sight  of  daily  life  or  in  the  clarity  of  the  true  sight 
I  have  not  since  seen  it,  but  that  has  mattered  little, 
for  having  heard  an  authentic  word  within  its  walls  I 
have  passed  on  my  way  elsewhere. 

Next  day  a  letter  from  Olesen  reached  me. 

"Dear  Ormond,  I  hope  you  have  had  a  good  time 
at  the  House  in  the  Woods.  I  saw  Rup  Singh  a  few 
days  ago  and  he  wrote  the  odd  message  I  enclose. 


THE  NINTH  VIBRATION  57 

You  know  what  these  natives  are,  even  the  most 
sensible  of  them,  and  you  will  humour  the  old  fellow 
for  he  ages  very  fast  and  I  think  is  breaking  up. 
But  this  was  not  what  I  wanted  to  say.  I  had  a  letter 
from  a  man  I  have  not  seen  for  years — a  fellow  called 
Stephen  Clifden,  who  lives  in  Kashmir.  As  a  matter 
of  fact  I  had  forgotten  his  existence  but  evidently  he 
has  not  repaid  the  compliment  for  he  writes  as 
follows — No,  I  had  better  send  you  the  note  and  you 
can  do  as  you  please.  I  am  rushed  off  my  legs  with 
work  and  the  heat  is  hell  with  the  lid  off.  And — " 

But  the  rest  was  of  no  interest  except  to  a  friend 
of  years'  standing.  I  read  Rup  Singh's  message  first. 
It  was  written  in  his  own  tongue. 

"To  the  Honoured  One  who  has  attained  to  the 
favour  of  the  Favourable. 

You  have  with  open  eyes  seen  what  this  humble  one 
has  dreamed  but  has  not  known.  If  the  thing  be 
possible,  write  me  this  word  that  I  may  depart  in 
peace.  'With  that  one  who  in  a  former  birth  you 
loved  all  is  well.  Fear  nothing  for  him.  The  way  is 
long  but  at  the  end  the  lamps  of  love  are  lit  and  the 
Unstruck  music  is  sounded.  He  lies  at  the  feet  of 
Mercy  and  there  awaits  his  hour.'  And  if  it  be  not 
possible  to  write  these  words,  write  nothing,  0 
Honoured,  for  though  it  be  in  the  hells  my  soul  shall 
find  my  King,  and  again  I  shall  serve  him  as  once  I 
served." 


58  THE  NINTH  VIBRATION 

I  understood,  and  wrote  those  words  as  he  had 
written  them.  Strange  mystery  of  life — that  I  who 
had  not  known  should  see,  and  that  this  man  whose 
fidelity  had  not  deserted  his  broken  King  in  his  utter 
downfall  should  have  sought  with  passion  for  one 
sight  of  the  beloved  face  across  the  waters  of  death 
and  sought  in  vain.  I  thought  of  those  Buddhist 
words  of  Seneca — "The  soul  may  be  and  is  in  the 
mass  of  men  drugged  and  silenced  by  the  seductions 
of  sense  and  the  deceptions  of  the  world.  But  if,  in 
some  moment  of  detachment  and  elation,  when  its 
captors  and  jailors  relax  their  guard,  it  can  escape 
their  clutches,  it  will  seek  at  once  the  region  of  its 
birth  and  its  true  home." 

Well — the  shell  must  break  before  the  bird  can  fly, 
and  the  time  drew  near  for  the  faithful  servant  to  seek 
his  lord.  My  message  reached  him  in  time  and 
gladdened  him. 

I  turned  then  to  Clifden's  letter. 

"Dear  Olesen,  you  will  have  forgotten  me,  and 
feeling  sure  of  this  I  should  scarcely  have  intruded 
a  letter  into  your  busy  life  were  it  not  that  I  remember 
your  good-nature  as  a  thing  unforgettable  though  so 
many  years  have  gone  by.  I  hear  of  you  sometimes 
when  Sleigh  comes  up  the  Sind  valley,  for  I  often 
camp  at  Sonamarg  and  above  the  Zoji  La  and  farther. 
I  want  you  to  give  a  message  to  a  man  you  know  who 
should  be  expecting  to  hear  from  me.  Tell  him  I 


THE  NINTH  VIBRATION  59 

shall  be  at  the  Tashigong  Monastery  when  he  reaches 
Gyumiir  beyond  the  Shipki.  Tell  him  I  have  the 
information  he  wants  and  I  will  willingly  go  on  with 
him  to  Yarkhand  and  his  destination.  He  need  not 
arrange  for  men  beyond  Gyumiir.  All  is  fixed.  So 
sorry  to  bother  you,  old  man,  but  I  don't  know 
Ormond's  address,  except  that  he  was  with  you  and 
has  gone  up  Simla  way.  And  of  course  he  will  be 
keen  to  hear  the  thing  is  settled/' 

Amazing.  I  remembered  the  message  I  had  heard 
and  this  man's  words  rang  true  and  kindly,  but  what 
could  it  mean?  I  really  did  not  question  farther 
than  this  for  now  I  could  not  doubt  that  I  was  guided. 
Stronger  hands  than  mine  had  me  in  charge,  and  it 
only  remained  for  me  to  set  forth  in  confidence 
and  joy  to  an  end  that  as  yet  I  could  not  discern. 
I  turned  my  face  gladly  to  the  wonder  of  the  moun 
tains. 

Gladly — but  with  a  reservation.  I  was  leaving  a 
friend  and  one  whom  I  dimly  felt  might  one  day  be 
more  than  a  friend — Brynhild  Ingmar.  That 
problem  must  be  met  before  I  could  take  my  way. 

I  thought  much  of  what  might  be  said  at  parting. 
True,  she  had  the  deepest  attraction  for  me,  but  true 
also  that  I  now  beheld  a  quest  stretching  out  into  the 
unknown  which  I  must  accept  in  the  spirit  of  the 
knight  errant.  Dare  I  then  bind  my  heart  to  any 
allegiance  which  would  pledge  me  to  a  future  incon- 


60  THE  NINTH  VIBRATION 

sistent  with  what  lay  before  me?  How  could  I  tell 
what  she  might  think  of  the  things  which  to  me  were 
now  real  and  external — the  revelation  of  the  only 
reality  that  underlies  all  the  seeming.  Life  can  never 
be  the  same  for  the  man  who  has  penetrated  to  this, 
and  though  it  may  seem  a  hard  saying  there  can  be  but 
a  maimed  understanding  between  him  and  those  who 
still  walk  amid  the  phantoms  of  death  and  decay. 

Her  sympathy  with  nature  was  deep  and  wonderful 
but  might  it  not  be  that  though  the  earth  was  eloquent 
to  her  the  skies  were  silent?  I  was  but  a  beginner 
myself — I  knew  little  indeed.  Dare  I  risk  that  little 
in  a  sweet  companionship  which  would  sink  me  into 
the  contentment  of  the  life  lived  by  the  happily  de 
luded  between  the  cradle  and  the  grave  and  perhaps 
close  to  me  for  ever  that  still  sphere  where  my  highest 
hope  abides.  I  had  much  to  ponder,  for  how  could 
I  lose  her  out  of  my  life — though  I  knew  not  at  all 
whether  she  who  had  so  much  to  make  her  happiness 
would  give  me  a  single  thought  when  I  was  gone. 

If  all  this  seem  the  very  uttermost  of  selfish  vanity, 
forgive  a  man  who  grasped  in  his  hand  a  treasure  so 
new,  so  wonderful  that  he  walked  in  fear  and  doubt 
lest  it  should  slip  away  and  leave  him  in  a  world 
darkened  for  ever  by  the  torment  of  the  knowledge 
that  it  might  have  been  his  and  he  had  bartered  it  for 
the  mess  of  pottage  that  has  bought  so  many  birth 
rights  since  Jacob  bargained  with  his  weary  brother 


THE  NINTH  VIBRATION  61 

in  the  tents  of  Lahai-roi.  I  thought  I  would  come 
back  later  with  my  prize  gained  and  throwing  it  at 
her  feet  ask  her  wisdom  in  return,  for  whatever  I 
might  not  know  I  knew  well  she  was  wiser  than  I  ex 
cept  in  that  one  shining  of  the  light  from  Eleusis.  I 
walked  alone  in  the  woods  thinking  of  these  things 
and  no  answer  satisfied  me. 

I  did  not  see  her  alone  until  the  day  I  left,  for  I 
was  compelled  by  the  arrangements  I  was  making  to 
go  down  to  Simla  for  a  night.  And  now  the  last 
morning  had  come  with  golden  sun-shot  mists  rolling 
upward  to  disclose  the  far  white  billows  of  the  sea  of 
eternity,  the  mountains  awaking  to  their  enormous 
joys.  The  trees  were  dripping  glory  to  the  steaming 
earth;  it  flowed  like  rivers  into  their  most  secret  re 
cesses,  moss  and  flower,  fern  and  leaf  floated  upon  the 
waves  of  light  revealing  their  inmost  soul  in  tri 
umphant  gladness.  Far  off  across  the  valleys  a 
cuckoo  was  calling — the  very  voice  of  spring,  and  in 
the  green  world  above  my  head  a  bird  sang,  a 
feathered  joy,  so  clear,  so  passionate  that  I  thought 
the  great  summer  morning  listened  in  silence  to  his 
rapture  ringing  through  the  woods.  I  waited  until 
the  Jubilate  was  ended  and  then  went  in  to  bid  good 
bye  to  my  friends. 

Mrs.  Ingmar  bid  me  the  kindest  farewell  and  I  left 
her  serene  in  the  negation  of  all  beauty,  all  hope 
save  that  of  a  world  run  on  the  lines  of  a  model 


62  THE  NINTH  VIBRATION 

municipality,  disease  a  memory,  sewage,  light  and 
air  systems  perfected,  the  charted  brain  sending  its 
costless  messages  to  the  outer  parts  of  the  habitable 
globe,  and  at  least  a  hundred  years  of  life  with  a 
decent  cremation  at  the  end  of  it  assured  to  every 
eugenically  born  citizen.  No  more.  But  I  have  long 
ceased  to  regret  that  others  use  their  own  eyes  whether 
clear  or  dim.  Better  the  merest  glimmer  of  light 
perceived  thus  than  the  hearsay  of  the  revelations  of 
others.  And  by  the  broken  fragments  of  a  be 
wildered  hope  a  man  shall  eventually  reach  the  goal 
and  rejoice  in  that  dawn  where  the  morning  stars  sing 
together  and  the  sons  of  God  shout  for  joy.  It  must 
come,  for  it  is  already  here. 

Brynhild  walked  with  me  through  the  long  glades 
in  the  fresh  thin  air  to  the  bridle  road  where  my  men 
and  ponies  waited,  eager  to  be  off.  We  stood  at 
last  in  the  fringe  of  trees  on  a  small  height  which 
commanded  the  way; — a  high  uplifted  path  cut  along 
the  shoulders  of  the  hills  and  on  the  left  the  sheer 
drop  of  the  valleys.  Perhaps  seven  or  eight  feet  in 
width  and  dignified  by  the  name  of  the  Great 
Hindustan  and  Tibet  Road  it  ran  winding  far  away 
into  Wonderland.  Looking  down  into  the  valleys, 
so  far  beneath  that  the  solitudes  seem  to  wall  them 
in  I  thought  of  all  the  strange  caravans  which  have 
taken  this  way  with  tinkle  of  bells  and  laughter  now 
so  long  silenced,  and  as  I  looked  I  saw  a  lost  little 


THE  NINTH  VIBRATION  63 

monastery  in  a  giant  crevice,  solitary  as  a  planet  on 
the  outermost  ring  of  the  system,  and  remembrance 
flashed  into  my  mind  and  I  said; 

"I  have  marching  orders  that  have  countermanded 
my  own  plans.  I  am  to  journey  to  the  Buddhist 
Monastery  of  Tashigong,  and  there  meet  a  friend  who 
will  tell  me  what  is  necessary  that  I  may  travel  to 
Yarkhand  and  beyond.  It  will  be  long  before  I  see 
Kashmir." 

In  those  crystal  clear  eyes  I  saw  a  something  new 
to  me — a  faint  smile,  half  pitying,  half  sad; 

"Who  told  you,  and  where?" 

"A  girl  in  a  strange  place.  A  woman  who  has 
twice  guided  me — " 

I  broke  off.  Her  smile  perplexed  me.  I  could 
not  tell  what  to  say.  She  repeated  in  a  soft  under 
tone; 

"Great  Lady,  be  pitiful  to  the  blind  eyes  and  give 
them  light." 

And  instantly  I  knew.  0  blind — blind!  Was  the 
unhappy  King  of  the  story  duller  of  heart  than  I? 
And  shame  possessed  me.  Here  was  the  chrysoberyl 
that  all  day  hides  its  secret  in  deeps  of  lucid  green  but 
when  the  night  comes  flames  with  its  fiery  ecstasy  of 
crimson  to  the  moon,  and  I — I  had  been  complacently 
considering  whether  I  might  not  blunt  my  own 
spiritual  instinct  by  companionship  with  her,  while 
she  had  been  my  guide,  as  infinitely  beyond  me  in 


64  THE  NINTH  VIBRATION 

insight  as  she  was  in  all  things  beautiful.  I  could 
have  kissed  her  feet  in  my  deep  repentance.  True  it 
is  that  the  gateway  of  the  high  places  is  reverence  and 
he  who  cannot  bow  his  head  shall  receive  no  crown. 
I  saw  that  my  long  travel  in  search  of  knowledge 
would  have  been  utterly  vain  if  I  had  not  learnt  that 
lesson  there  and  then.  In  those  moments  of  silence 
I  learnt  it  once  and  for  ever. 

She  stood  by  me  breathing  the  liquid  morning  air, 
her  face  turned  upon  the  eternal  snows.  I  caught  her 
hand  in  a  recognition  that  might  have  ended  years  of 
parting,  and  its  warm  youth  vibrated  in  mine,  the 
foretaste  of  all  understanding,  all  unions,  of  love  that 
asks  nothing,  that  fears  nothing,  that  has  no  petition 
to  make.  She  raised  her  eyes  to  mine  and  her  tears 
were  a  rainbow  of  hope.  So  we  stood  in  silence  that 
was  more  than  any  words,  and  the  golden  moments 
went  by.  I  knew  her  now  for  what  she  was,  one  of 
whom  it  might  have  been  written ; 

"I  come  from  where  night  falls  clearer 

Than  your  morning  sun  can  rise; 

From  an  earth  that  to  heaven  draws  nearer 

Than  your  visions  of  Paradise, — 

For  the  dreams  that  your  dreamers  dream 

We  behold  them  with  open  eyes." 

With  open  eyes!  Later  I  asked  the  nature  of  the 
strange  bond  that  had  called  her  to  my  side. 

"I  do  not  understand  that  fully  myself,'"  she  said — 


THE  NINTH  VIBRATION  65 

"That  is  part  of  the  knowledge  we  must  wait  for. 
But  you  have  the  eyes  that  see,  and  that  is  a  tie  noth 
ing  can  break.  I  had  waited  long  in  the  House  of 
Beauty  for  you.  I  guided  you  there.  But  between 
you  and  me  there  is  also  love." 

I  stretched  an  eager  hand  but  she  repelled  it  gently, 
drawing  back  a  little.  "Not  love  of  each  other 
though  we  are  friends  and  in  the  future  may  be 
infinitely  more.  But — have  you  ever  seen  a  drawing 
of  Blake's — a  young  man  stretching  his  arms  to  a 
white  swan  which  flies  from  him  on  wings  he  cannot 
stay?  That  is  the  story  of  both  our  lives.  We  long 
to  be  joined  in  this  life,  here  and  now,  to  an  unspeak 
able  beauty  and  power  whose  true  believers  we  are 
because  we  have  seen  and  known.  There  is  no  love 
so  binding  as  the  same  purpose.  Perhaps  that  is  the 
only  true  love.  And  so  we  shall  never  be  apart 
though  we  may  never  in  this  world  be  together  again 
in  what  is  called  companionship." 

"We  shall  meet,"  I  said  confidently.  She  smiled 
and  was  silent. 

"Do  we  follow  a  will-o'-the  wisp  in  parting?  Do 
we  give  up  the  substance  for  the  shadow?  Shall  I 
stay?" 

She  laughed  joyously; 

"We  give  a  single  rose  for  a  rose-tree  that  bears 
seven  times  seven.  Daily  I  see  more,  and  you  are 
going  where  you  will  be  instructed.  As  you  know 


66  THE  NINTH  VIBRATION 

my  mother  prefers  for  a  time  to  have  my  cousin  with 
her  to  help  her  with  the  book  she  means  to  write. 
So  I  shall  have  time  to  myself.  What  do  you  think  I 
shall  do?" 

"Blow  away  on  a  great  wind.  Ride  on  the  crests 
of  tossing  waves.  Catch  a  star  to  light  the  fireflies!" 

She  laughed  like  a  bird's  song. 

"Wrong — wrong!  I  shall  be  a  student.  All  I 
know  as  yet  has  come  to  me  by  intuition,  but  there  is 
Law  as  well  as  Love  and  I  will  learn.  I  have  drifted 
like  a  happy  cloud  before  the  wind.  Now  I  will  learn 
to  be  the  wind  that  blows  the  clouds." 

I  looked  at  her  in  astonishment.  If  a  flower  had 
desired  the  same  thing  it  could  scarcely  have  seemed 
more  incredible,  for  I  had  thought  her  whole  life  and 
nature  instinctive  not  intellective.  She  smiled  as  one 
who  has  a  beloved  secret  to  keep. 

"When  you  have  gained  what  in  this  country  they 
call  The  Knowledge  of  Regeneration,  come  back  and 
ask  me  what  I  have  learnt.1" 

She  would  say  no  more  of  that  and  turned  to 
another  matter,  speaking  with  earnestness; 

"Before  you  came  here  I  had  a  message  for  you, 
and  Stephen  Clif  den  will  tell  you  the  same  thing  when 
you  meet.  Believe  it  for  it  is  true.  Remember 
always  that  the  psychical  is  not  the  mystical  and  that 
what  we  seek  is  not  marvel  but  vision.  These  two 
things  are  very  far  apart,  so  let  the  first  with  all  its 


THE  NINTH  VIBRATION  67 

dangers  pass  you  by,  for  our  way  lies  to  the  heights, 
and  for  us  there  is  only  one  danger — that  of  turning 
back  and  losing  what  the  whole  world  cannot  give  in 
exchange.  I  have  never  seen  Stephen  Clifden  but  I 
know  much  of  him.  He  is  a  safe  guide — a  man  who 
has  had  much  and  strange  sorrow  which  has  brought 
him  joy  that  cannot  be  told.  He  will  take  you  to 
those  who  know  the  things  that  you  desire.  I  wish 
I  might  have  gone  too." 

Something  in  the  sweetness  of  her  voice,  its  high 
passion,  the  strong  beauty  of  her  presence  woke  a 
poignant  longing  in  my  heart.  I  said; 

"I  cannot  leave  you.  You  are  the  only  guide  I 
can  follow.  Let  us  search  together — you  always  on 
before." 

"Your  way  lies  there."  she  pointed  to  the  high 
mountains.  "And  mine  to  the  plains,  and  if  we 
chose  our  own  we  should  wander.  But  we  shall  meet 
again  in  the  way  and  time  that  will  be  best  and  with 
knowledge  so  enlarged  that  what  we  have  seen  already 
will  be  like  an  empty  dream  compared  to  daylight 
truth.  If  you  knew  what  waits  for  you  you  would  not 
delay  one  moment." 

She  stood  radiant  beneath  the  deodars,  a  figure  of 
Hope,  pointing  steadily  to  the  heights.  I  knew  her 
words  were  true  though  as  yet  I  could  not  tell  how. 
I  knew  that  whereas  we  had  seen  the  Wonderful  in 
beautiful  though  local  forms  there  is  a  plane  where 


68  THE  NINTH  VIBRATION 

the  Formless  may  be  apprehended  in  clear  dream  and 
solemn  vision — the  meeting  of  spirit  with  Spirit. 
What  that  revelation  would  mean  I  could  not  guess — 
how  should  I? — but  I  knew  the  illusion  we  call  death 
and  decay  would  wither  before  it.  There  is  a  music 
above  and  beyond  the  Ninth  Vibration  though  I  must 
love  those  words  for  ever  for  what  their  hidden 
meaning  gave  me. 

I  took  her  hand  and  held  it.  Strange — beyond  all 
strangeness  that  that  story  of  an  ancient  sorrow  should 
have  made  us  what  we  were  to  each  other — should 
have  opened  to  me  the  gates  of  that  Country  where 
she  wandered  content.  For  the  first  time  I  had 
realized  in  its  fulness  the  loveliness  of  this  crystal 
nature,  clear  as  flowing  water  to  receive  and  transmit 
the  light — itself  a  prophecy  and  fulfilment  of  some 
higher  race  which  will  one  day  inhabit  our  world 
when  it  has  learnt  the  true  values.  She  drew  a  flower 
from  her  breast  and  gave  it  to  me.  It  lies  before  me 
white  and  living  as  I  write  these  words. 

I  sprang  down  the  road  and  mounted,  giving  the 
word  to  march.  The  men  shouted  and  strode  on — 
our  faces  to  the  Shipki  Pass  and  what  lay  beyond. 

We  had  parted. 

Once,  twice,  I  looked  back,  and  standing  in  full 
sunlight,  she  waved  her  hand. 

We  turned  the  angle  of  the  rocks. 

What  I  found — what  she  found  is  a  story  strange 


THE  NINTH  VIBRATION  69 

and  beautiful  which  I  may  tell  one  day  to  those  who 
care  to  hear.  That  for  me  there  were  pauses, 
hesitancies,  dreads,  on  the  way  I  am  not  concerned  to 
deny,  for  so  it  must  always  be  with  the  roots  of  die 
old  beliefs  of  fear  and  ignorance  buried  in  the  soil 
of  our  hearts  and  ready  to  throw  out  their  poisonous 
fibres.  But  there  was  never  doubt.  For  myself  I 
have  long  forgotten  the  meaning  of  that  word  in  any 
thing  that  is  of  real  value. 

Do  not  let  it  be  thought  that  the  treasure  is  reserved 
for  the  few  or  those  of  special  gifts.  And  it  is  as  free 
to  the  West  as  to  the  East  though  I  own  it  lies  nearer 
to  the  surface  in  the  Orient  where  the  spiritual  genius 
of  the  people  makes  it  possible  and  the  greater  and 
more  faithful  teachers  are  found.  It  is  not  without 
meaning  that  all  the  faiths  of  the  world  have  dawned 
in  those  sunrise  skies.  Yet  it  is  within  reach  of  all 
and  asks  only  recognition,  for  the  universe  has  been 
the  mine  of  its  jewels — 

"Median  gold  it  holds,  and  silver  from  Atropatene, 
Ruby  and  emerald  from  Hindustan,  and  Bactrian  agate, 
Bright  with  beryl  and  pearl,  sardonyx  and  sapphire." — 

— and  more  that  cannot  be  uttered — the  Lights  and 
Perfections. 

So  for  all  seekers  I  pray  this  prayer — beautiful  in 
its  sonorous  Latin,  but  noble  in  all  the  tongues; 

"Supplico  tibi,  Pater  et  Dux — I  pray  Thee,  Guide 


70  THE  NINTH  VIBRATION 

of  our  vision,  that  we  may  remember  the  nobleness 
with  which  Thou  hast  endowed  us,  and  that  Thou 
wouldest  be  always  on  our  right  and  on  our  left  in  the 
motion  of  our  wills,  that  we  may  be  purged  from  the 
contagion  of  the  body  and  the  affections  of  the  brute 
and  overcome  and  rule  them.  And  I  pray  also  that 
Thou  wouldest  drive  away  the  blinding  darkness  from 
the  eyes  of  our  souls  that  we  may  know  well  what  is 
to  be  held  for  divine  and  what  for  mortal." 

"The  nobleness  with  which  Thou  hast  endowed 
us —  '  this,  and  not  the  cry  of  the  miserable  sinner 
whose  very  repentance  is  no  virtue  but  the  conse 
quence  of  failure  and  weakness  is  the  strong  music  to 
which  we  must  march. 

And  the  way  is  open  to  the  mountains. 


THE  INTERPRETER 
A  ROMANCE  OF  THE  EAST 


THE  INTERPRETER 
A  ROMANCE  OF  THE  EAST 


THERE  are  strange  things  in  this  story,  but, 
so  far  as  I  understand  them,  I  tell  the  truth. 
If  you  measure  the  East  with  a  Western  foot- 
rule  you  will  say,  "Impossible."  I  should  have  said 
it  myself. 

Of  myself  I  will  say  as  little  as  I  can,  for  this  story 
is  of  Vanna  Loring.  I  am  an  incident  only,  though 
I  did  not  know  that  at  first. 

My  name  is  Stephen  Clifden,  and  I  was  eight-and- 
thirty;  plenty  of  money,  sound  in  wind  and  limb.  I 
had  been  by  way  of  being  a  writer  before  the  war,  the 
hobby  of  a  rich  man;  but  if  I  picked  up  anything  in 
the  welter  in  France,  it  was  that  real  work  is  the  only 
salvation  this  mad  world  has  to  offer;  so  I  meant  to 
begin  at  the  beginning,  and  learn  my  trade  like  a 
journeyman  labourer. 

I  had  come  to  the  right  place.  A  very  wonderful 
city  is  Peshawar — rather  let  us  say,  two  cities — the 

compounds,  the  fortifications  where  Europeans  dwell 

73 


74  THE  INTERPRETER 

in  such  peace  as  their  strong  right  arms  can  secure 
them;  and  the  native  city  and  bazaar  humming  and 
buzzing  like  a  hive  of  angry  bees  with  the  rumours 
that  come  up  from  Lower  India  or  down  the  Khyber 
Pass  with  the  camel  caravans  loaded  with  merchandise 
from  Afghanistan,  Bokhara,  and  farther.  And  it  is 
because  of  this  that  Peshawar  is  the  Key  of  India,  and 
a  city  of  Romance  that  stands  at  every  corner,  and 
cries  aloud  in  the  market-place.  For  at  Peshawar 
every  able-bodied  man  sleeps  with  his  revolver  under 
his  pillow,  and  the  old  Fort  is  always  ready  in  case  it 
should  be  necessary  at  brief  and  sharp  notice  to  hurry 
the  women  and  children  into  it,  and  possibly,  to  die 
in  their  defence.  So  enlivening  is  the  neighourhood 
of  the  frontier  tribes  that  haunt  the  famous  Khyber 
Pass  and  the  menacing  hills  where  danger  is  always 
lurking. 

But  there  was  society  here,  and  I  was  swept  into  it 
— there  was  chatter,  and  it  galled  me. 

I  was  beginning  to  feel  that  I  had  missed  my  mark, 
and  must  go  farther  afield,  perhaps  up  into 
Central  Asia,  when  I  met  Vanna  Loring.  If  I  say 
that  her  hair  was  soft  and  dark;  that  she  had  the 
deepest  hazel  eyes  I  have  ever  seen,  and  a  sensitive, 
tender  mouth;  that  she  moved  with  a  flowing  grace 
like  "a  wave  of  the  sea!" — it  sounds  like  the  portrait 
of  a  beauty,  and  she  was  never  that.  Also, 
incidentally,  it  gives  none  of  her  charm.  I  never 


THE  INTERPRETER  75 

heard  any  one  get  any  further  than  that  she  was 
"oddly  attractive" — let  us  leave  it  at  that.  She  was 
certainly  attractive  to  me. 

She  was  the  governess  of  little  Winifred  Meryon, 
whose  father  held  the  august  position  of  General 
Commanding  the  Frontier  Forces,  and  her  mother  the 
more  commanding  position  of  the  reigning  beauty  of 
Northern  India,  generally  speaking.  No  one  dis 
puted  that.  She  was  as  pretty  as  a  picture,  and  her 
charming  photograph  had  graced  as  many  illustrated 
papers  as  there  were  illustrated  papers  to  grace. 

But  Vanna — I  gleaned  her  story  by  bits  when  I 
came  across  her  with  the  child  in  the  gardens.  I  was 
beginning  to  piece  it  together  now. 

Her  love  of  the  strange  and  beautiful  she  had 
inherited  from  a  young  Italian  mother,  daughter  of 
a  political  refugee;  her  childhood  had  been  spent  in 
a  remote  little  village  in  the  West  of  England;  half 
reluctantly  she  told  me  how  she  had  brought  herself 
up  after  her  mother's  death  and  her  father's  second 
marriage.  Little  was  said  of  that,  but  I  gathered  that 
it  had  been  a  grief  to  her,  a  factor  in  her  flight  to  the 
East. 

We  were  walking  in  the  Circular  Road  then  with 
Winifred  in  front  leading  her  Pekingese  by  its  blue 
ribbon,  and  we  had  it  almost  to  ourselves  except  for 
a  few  natives  passing  slow  and  dignified  on  their 
own  occasions,  for  fashionable  Peshawar  was  finishing 


76  THE  INTERPRETER 

its  last  rubber  of  bridge,  before  separating  to  dress 
for  dinner,  and  had  no  time  to  spare  for  trivialities 
and  sunsets. 

"So  when  I  came  to  three-and-twenty,"  she  said 
slowly,  "I  felt  I  must  break  away  from  our  narrow 
life.  I  had  a  call  to  India  stronger  than  anything  on 
earth.  You  would  not  understand  but  that  was  so, 
and  I  had  spent  every  spare  moment  in  teaching  my 
self  India — its  history,  legends,  religions,  everything! 
And  I  was  not  wanted  at  home,  and  I  had  grown 
afraid." 

I  could  divine  years  of  patience  and  repression 
under  this  plain  tale,  but  also  a  power  that  would  be 
dynamic  when  the  authentic  voice  called.  That  was 
her  charm — gentleness  in  strength — a  sweet  serenity. 

"What  were  you  afraid  of?" 

"Of  growing  old  and  missing  what  was  waiting  for 
me  out  here.  But  I  could  not  get  away  like  other 
people.  No  money,  you  see.  So  I  thought  I  would 
come  out  here  and  teach.  Dare  I?  Would  they  let 
me?  I  knew  I  was  fighting  life  and  chances  and  risks 
if  I  did  it;  but  it  was  death  if  I  stayed  there.  And 
then — Do  you  really  care  to  hear?" 

"Of  course.     Tell  me  how  you  broke  your  chain." 

"I  spare  you  the  family  quarrels.  I  can  never  go 
back.  But  I  was  spurred — spurred  to  take  some  wild 
leap;  and  I  took  it.  So  six  years  ago  I  came  out. 
First  I  went  to  a  doctor  and  his  wife  at  Cawnpore. 


THE  INTERPRETER  77 

They  had  a  wonderful  knowledge  of  the  Indian 
peoples,  and  there  I  learned  Hindustani  and  much 
else.  Then  he  died.  But  an  aunt  had  left  me  two 
hundred  pounds,  and  I  could  wait  a  little  and  choose; 
and  so  I  came  here." 

It  interested  me.  The  courage  that  pale  elastic 
type  of  woman  has! 

"Have  you  ever  regretted  it?  Would  they  take 
you  back  if  you  failed?" 

"Never,  to  both  questions,"  she  said,  smiling. 
"Life  is  glorious.  I've  drunk  of  a  cup  I  never  thought 
to  taste;  and  if  I  died  to-morrow  I  should  know  I 
had  done  right.  I  rejoice  in  every  moment  I  live — 
even  when  Winifred  and  I  are  wrestling  with  arith 
metic." 

"I  shouldn't  have  thought  life  was  very  easy  with 
Lady  Meryon." 

"Oh,  she  is  kind  enough  in  an  indifferent  sort  of 
way.  I  am  not  the  persecuted  Jane  Eyre  sort  of 
governess  at  all.  But  that  is  all  on  the  surface  and 
does  not  matter.  It  is  India  I  care  for — the  people, 
the  sun,  the  infinite  beauty.  It  was  coming  home. 
You  would  laugh  if  I  told  you  I  knew  Peshawar  long 
before  I  came  here.  Knew  it — walked  here,  lived. 
Before  there  were  English  in  India  at  all."  She 
broke  off.  "You  wori't  understand." 

"Oh,  I  have  had  that  feeling,  too,"  I  said  patroniz 
ingly.  "If  one  has  read  very  much  about  a  place — " 


78  THE  INTERPRETER 

"That  was  not  quite  what  I  meant.  Never  mind. 
The  people,  the  place — that  is  the  real  thing  to  me. 
All  this  is  the  dream." 

The  sweep  of  her  hand  took  in  not  only  Winifred 
and  myself,  but  the  general's  stately  residence,  which 
to  blaspheme  in  Peshawar  is  rank  infidelity. 

"By  George,  I  would  give  thousands  to  feel  that! 
I  can't  get  out  of  Europe  here.  I  want  to  write, 
Miss  Loring,"  I  found  myself  saying.  "I'd  done  a 
bit,  and  then  the  war  came  and  blew  my  life  to  pieces. 
Now  I  want  to  get  inside  the  skin  of  the  East,  and  I 
can't  do  it.  I  see  it  from  outside,  with  a  pane  of 
glass  between.  No  life  in  it.  If  you  feel  as  you 
say,  for  God's  sake  be  my  interpreter!" 

I  really  meant  what  I  said.  I  knew  she  was  a 
harp  that  any  breeze  would  sweep  into  music.  I 
divined  that  temperament  in  her  and  proposed  to  use 
it  for  my  own  ends.  She  had  and  I  had  not,  the 
power  to  be  a  part  of  all  she  saw,  to  feel  kindred 
blood  running  in  her  own  veins.  To  the  average 
European  the  native  life  of  India  is  scarcely  interest 
ing,  so  far  is  it  removed  from  all  comprehension. 
To  me  it  was  interesting,  but  I  could  not  tell  why. 
I  stood  outside  and  had  not  the  fairy  gold  to  pay  for 
my  entrance.  Here  at  all  events  she  could  buy  her 
way  where  I  could  not.  Without  cruelty,  which  hon 
estly  was  not  my  besetting  sin — especially  where 
women  were  concerned,  the  egoist  in  me  felt  I  would 


THE  INTERPRETER  79 

use  her,  would  extract  the  last  drop  of  the  enchant 
ment  of  her  knowledge  before  I  went  on  my  way. 
What  more  natural  than  that  Vanna  or  any  other 
woman  should  minister  to  my  thirst  for  information? 
Men  are  like  that.  I  pretend  to  be  no  better  than 
the  rest.  She  pleased  my  fastidiousness — that  fas 
tidiousness  which  is  the  only  austerity  in  men  not 
otherwise  austere. 

"Interpret?"  she  said,  looking  at  me  with  clear 
hazel  eyes;  "how  could  I?  You  were  in  the  native 
city  yesterday.  What  did  you  miss?'1' 

"Everything!  I  saw  masses  of  colour,  light,  move 
ment.  Brilliantly  picturesque  people.  Children 
like  Asiatic  angels.  Magnificently  scowling  ruffians 
in  sheepskin  coats.  In  fact,  a  movie  staged  for  my 
benefit.  I  was  afraid  they  would  ring  down  the  cur 
tain  before  I  had  had  enough.  It  had  no  meaning. 
When  I  got  back  to  my  diggings  I  tried  to  put  down 
what  I  had  just  seen,  and  I  swear  there's  more  in 
spiration  in  the  guide-book." 

"Did  you  go  alone?" 

"Yes,  I  certainly  would  not  go  sight-seeing  with  the 
Meryon  crowd.  Tell  me  what  you  felt  when  you  saw 
it  first." 

"I  went  with  Sir  John's  uncle.  He  was  a  great 
traveller.  The  colour  struck  me  dumb.  It  flames — 
it  sings.  Think  of  the  grey  pinched  life  in  the  West! 
I  saw  a  grave  dark  potter  turning  his  wheel,  while  his 


80  THE  INTERPRETER 

little  girl  stood  by,  glad  at  our  pleasure,  her  head 
veiled  like  a  miniature  woman,  tiny  baggy  trousers, 
and  a  silver  nose-stud,  like  a  star,  in  one  delicate 
nostril.  In  her  thin  arms  she  held  a  heavy  baby  in 
a  gilt  cap,  like  a  monkey.  And  the  wheel  turned  and 
whirled  until  it  seemed  to  be  spinning  dreams,  thick 
as  motes  in  the  sun.  The  clay  rose  in  smooth  spirals 
under  his  hand,  and  the  wheel  sang,  'Shall  the  ves 
sel  reprove  him  who  made  one  to  honour  and  one  to 
dishonour?'  And  Isaw  the  potter  thumping  his  wet 
clay,  and  the  clay,  plastic  as  dream-stuff,  shaped 
swift  as  light,  and  the  three  Fates  stood  at  his  shoul 
der.  Dreams,  dreams,  and  all  in  the  spinning  of  the 
wheel,  and  the  rich  shadows  of  the  old  broken  court 
yard  where  he  sat.  And  the  wheel  stopped  and  the 
thread  broke,  and  the  little  new  shapes  he  had  made 
stood  all  about  him,  and  he  was  only  a  potter  in 
Peshawar." 

Her  voice  was  like  a  song.  She  had  utterly  for 
gotten  my  existence.  I  did  not  dislike  it  at  the 
moment,  for  I  wanted  to  hear  more,  and  the  imper 
sonal  is  the  rarest  gift  a  woman  can  give  a  man. 

"Did  you  buy  anything?" 

"He  gave  me  a  gift — a  flawed  jar  of  turquoise  blue, 
faint  turquoise  green  round  the  lip.  He  saw  I  under 
stood.  And  then  I  bought  a  little  gold  cap  and  a 
wooden  box  of  jade-green  Kabul  grapes.  About  a 
rupee,  all  told.  But  it  was  Eastern  merchandise, 


THE  INTERPRETER  81 

and  I  was  trading  from  Balsora  and  Baghdad,  and 
Eleazar's  camels  were  swaying  down  from  Damascus 
along  the  Khyber  Pass,  and  coming  in  at  the  great 
Darwazah,  and  friends'  eyes  met  me  everywhere. 
I  am  profoundly  happy  here." 

The  sinking  sun  lit  an  almost  ecstatic  face. 

I  envied  her  more  deeply  than  I  had  ever  envied 
any  one.  She  had  the  secret  of  immortal  youth,  and 
I  felt  old  as  I  looked  at  her.  One  might  be  eighty 
and  share  that  passionate  impersonal  joy.  Age 
could  not  wither  nor  custom  stale  the  infinite  variety 
of  her  world's  joys.  She  had  a  child's  dewy  youth 
in  her  eyes. 

There  are  great  sunsets  at  Peshawar,  flaming  over 
the  plain,  dying  in  melancholy  splendour  over  the 
dangerous  hills.  They  too  were  hers,  in  a  sense 
in  which  they  could  never  be  mine.  But  what  a 
companion!  To  my  astonishment  a  wild  thought  of 
marriage  flashed  across  me,  to  be  instantly  rebuffed 
with  a  shrug.  Marriage — that  one's  wife  might  talk 
poetry  to  one  about  the  East!  Absurd!  But  what 
was  it  these  people  felt  and  I  could  not  feel?  Al 
most,  shut  up  in  the  prison  of  self,  I  knew  what  Vanna 
had  felt  in  her  village — a  maddening  desire  to  escape, 
to  be  a  part  of  the  loveliness  that  lay  beyond  me.  So 
might  a  man  love  a  king's  daughter  in  her  hopeless 
heights. 

"It  may  be  very  beautiful  on  the  surface,"  I  said 


82  THE  INTERPRETER 

morosely;  "but  there's  a  lot  of  misery  below — hate 
ful,  they  tell  me.'" 

"Of  course.  We  shall  get  to  work  one  day.  But 
look  at  the  sunset.  It  opens  like  a  mysterious 
flower.  I  must  take  Winifred  home  now." 

"One  moment,"  I  pleaded;  "I  can  only  see  it 
through  your  eyes.  I  feel  it  while  you  speak,  and 
then  the  good  minute  goes." 

She  laughed. 

"And  so  must  I.  Come,  Winifred.  Look,  there's 
an  owl;  not  like  the  owls  in  the  summer  dark  in  Eng 
land — 

"Lovely  are  the  curves  of  the  white  owl  sweeping, 
Wavy  in  the  dark,  lit  by  one  low  star." 

Suddenly  she  turned  again  and  looked  at  me  half 
wistfully. 

"It  is  good  to  talk  to  you.  You  want  to  know. 
You  are  so  near  it  all.  I  wish  I  could  help  you;  I 
am  so  exquisitely  happy  myself." 

My  writing  was  at  a  standstill.  It  seemed  the  grop 
ing  of  a  blind  man  in  a  radiant  world.  Once  per 
haps  I  had  felt  that  life  was  good  in  itself — when  the 
guns  came  thundering  toward  the  Vimy  Ridge  in  a 
mad  gallop  of  horses,  and  men  shouting  and  swear 
ing  and  frantically  urging  them  on.  Then,  riding 
for  more  than  life,  I  had  tasted  life  for  an  instant. 


THE  INTERPRETER  83 

Not  before  or  since.     But  this  woman  had  the  secret. 

Lady  Meryon,  with  her  escort  of  girls  and  subal 
terns,  came  daintily  past  the  hotel  compound,  and 
startled  me  from  my  brooding  with  her  pretty  silvery 
voice. 

"Dreaming,  Mr.  Clifden?  It  isn't  at  all  whole 
some  to  dream  in  the  East.  Come  and  dine  with  us 
tomorrow.  A  tiny  dance  afterwards,  you  know;  or 
bridge  for  those  who  like  it." 

I  had  not  the  faintest  notion  whether  governesses 
dined  with  the  family  or  came  in  afterward  with  the 
coffee ;  but  it  was  a  sporting  chance,  and  I  took  it. 

Then  Sir  John  came  up  and  joined  us. 

"You  can't  well  dance  tomorrow,  Kitty,"  he  said 
to  his  wife.  "There*' s  been  an  outpost  affair  in  the 
Swat  Hills,  and  young  Fitzgerald  has  been  shot. 
Come  to  dinner  of  course,  Clifden.  Glad  to  see 
you.  But  no  dancing,  I  think." 

Kitty  Meryon's  mouth  drooped  like  a  pouting 
child's.  Was  it  for  the  lost  dance,  or  the  lost  soldier 
lying  out  on  the  hills  in  the  dying  sunset.  Who 
could  tell?  In  either  case  it  was  pretty  enough  for 
the  illustrated  papers. 

"How  sad!  Such  a  dear  boy.  We  shall  miss 
him  at  tennis."  Then  brightly;  "Well,  we'll  have 
to  put  the  dance  off  for  a  week,  but  come  tomorrow 
anyhow." 


84  THE  INTERPRETER 

II 

Next  evening  I  went  into  Lady  Meryon's  flower- 
scented  drawing-room.  The  electric  fans  were  flutter 
ing  and  the  evening  air  was  cool.  Five  or  six  pretty 
girls  and  as  many  men  made  up  the  party — Kitty 
Meryon  the  prettiest  of  them  all,  fashionably  un 
dressed  in  faint  pink  and  crystal,  with  a  charming 
smile  in  readiness,  all  her  gay  little  flags  flying  in 
the  rich  man's  honour.  I  am  no  vainer  than  other 
men,  but  I  saw  that.  Whatever  her  charm  might  be 
it  was  none  for  me.  What  could  I  say  to  interest 
her  who  lived  in  her  foolish  little  world  as  one  shut 
in  a  bright  bubble?  And  she  had  said  the  wrong 
word  about  young  Fitzgerald — I  wanted  Vanna,  with 
her  deep  seeing  eyes,  to  say  the  right  one  and  adjust 
those  cruel  values. 

Governesses  dine,  it  appeared,  only  to  fill  an  un 
expected  place,  or  make  a  decorous  entry  afterward, 
to  play  accompaniments.  Fortunately  Kitty  Meryon 
sang,  in  a  pinched  little  soprano,  not  nearly  so  pretty 
as  her  silver  ripple  of  talk. 

It  was  when  the  party  had  settled  down  to  bridge 
and  I  was  standing  out,  that  I  ventured  to  go  up  to  her 
as  she  sat  knitting  by  a  window — not  unwatched  by 
the  quick  blue  flash  of  Lady  Meryon's  eyes  as  I  did  it. 

"I  think  you  hypnotize  me,  Miss  Loring.     When  I 


THE  INTERPRETER  85 

hear  anything  I  straightway  want  to  know  what  you 
will  say.     Have  you  heard  of  Fitzgerald's  death?" 

"That  is  why  we  are  not  dancing  tonight.  Tomor 
row  the  cable  will  reach  his  home  in  England.  He 
was  an  only  child,  and  they  are  the  great  people  of  the 
village  where  we  are  the  little  people.  I  knew  his 
mother  as  one  knows  a  great  lady  who  is  kind  to  all 
the  village  folk.  It  may  kill  her.  It  is  travelling  to 
night  like  a  bullet  to  her  heart,  and  she  does  not 
know." 

"His  father?" 

"A  brave  man — a  soldier  himself.  He  will  know 
it  was  a  good  death  and  that  Harry  would  not  fail. 
He  did  not  at  Ypres.  He  would  not  here.  But  all 
joy  and  hope  will  be  dead  in  that  house  tomorrow." 

"And  what  do  you  think?" 

"I  am  not  sorry  for  Harry,  if  you  mean  that.  He 
knew — we  all  know — that  he  was  on  guard  here  hold 
ing  the  outposts  against  blood  and  treachery  and  terri 
ble  things — playing  the  Great  Game.  One  never 
loses  at  that  game  if  one  plays  it  straight,  and  I  am 
sure  that  at  the  last  it  was  joy  he  felt  and  not  fear. 
He  has  not  lost.  Did  you  notice  in  the  church  a 
niche  before  every  soldier's  seat  to  hold  his  loaded 
gun?  And  the  tablets  on  the  walls;  "Killed  at 
Kabul  River,  aged  22."— "Killed  on  outpost  duty."- 
"Murdered  by  an  Afghan  fanatic/'  This  will  be  one 
memory  more.  Why  be  sorry?" 


86  THE  INTERPRETER 

Presently : — 

"I  am  going  up  to  the  hills  tomorrow,  to  the  Mala- 
khand  Fort,  with  Mrs  Delany,  Lady  Meryon's  aunt, 
and  we  shall  see  the  wonderful  Tahkt-i-Bahi  Monas 
tery  on  the  way.  You  should  do  that  run  before  you 
go.  The  fort  is  the  last  but  one  on  the  way  to  Chit- 
ral,  and  beyond  that  the  road  is  so  beset  that  only  sol 
diers  may  go  farther,  and  indeed  the  regiments  escort 
each  other  up  and  down.  But  it  is  an  early  start,  for 
we  must  be  back  in  Peshawar  at  six  for  fear  of  raiding 
natives." 

"I  know;  they  hauled  me  up  in  the  dusk  the  other 
day,  and  told  me  I  should  be  swept  off  to  the  hills  if 
I  fooled  about  after  dusk.  But  I  say — is  it  safe  for 
you  to  go?  You  ought  to  have  a  man.  Could  I  go 
too?"  . 

I  thought  she  did  not  look  enthusiastic  at  the  pro 
posal. 

"Ask.  You  know  I  settle  nothing.  I  go  where  I 
am  sent."  She  said  it  with  the  happiest  smile.  I 
knew  they  could  send  her  nowhere  that  she  would  not 
find  joy.  I  thought  her  mere  presence  must  send  the 
vibrations  of  happiness  through  the  household.  Yet 
again — why?  For  where  there  is  no  receiver  the 
current  speaks  in  vain ;  and  for  an  instant  I  seemed  to 
see  the  air  full  of  messages — of  speech  striving  to 
utter  its  passionate  truths  to  deaf  ears  stopped  for 


THE  INTERPRETER  87 

ever  against  the  breaking  waves  of  sound.  But 
Vanna  heard. 

She  left  the  room;  and  when  the  bridge  was  over, 
I  made  my  request.  Lady  Meryon  shrugged  her 
shoulders  and  declared  it  would  be  a  terribly  dull 
run — the  scenery  nothing,  "and  only"  (she 
whispered)  "Aunt  Selina  and  poor  Miss  Loring." 

Of  course  I  saw!  at  once  that  she  did  not  like  it;  but 
Sir  John  was  all  for  my  going,  and  that  saved  the 
situation. 

I  certainly  could  have  dispensed  with  Aunt  Selina 
when  the  automobile  drew  up  in  the  golden  river  of 
the  sunrise  at  the  hotel.  There  were  only  the  driver, 
a  personal  servant,  and  the  two  ladies;  Mrs.  Delany, 
comely,  pleasant,  talkative,  and  Vanna — 

Her  face  in  its  dark  motoring  veil,  fine  and  delicate 
as  a  young  moon  in  a  cloud  drift — the  sensitive  sweet 
mouth  that  had  quivered  a  little  when  she  spoke  of 
Fitzgerald — the  pure  glance  that  radiated  such  kind 
ness  to  all  the  world.  She  sat  there  with  the  Key  of 
Dreams  pressed  against  her  slight  bosom — her  eyes 
dreaming  above  it.  Already  the  strange  airs  of  her 
unknown  world  were  breathing  about  me,  and  as  yet 
I  knew  not  the  things  that  belonged  unto  my  peace. 

We  glided  along  the  straight  military  road  from 
Peshawar  to  Nowshera,  the  gold-bright  sun  dazzling  in 
its  whiteness — a  strange  drive  through  the  flat, 


88  THE  INTERPRETER 

burned  country,  with  the  ominous  Kabul  River  flowing 
through  it.  Military  preparations  everywhere,  and 
the  hills  looking  watchfully  down — alive,  as  it  were, 
with  keen,  hostile  eyes.  War  was  as  present  about 
us  as  behind  the  lines  in  France;  and  when  we 
crossed  the  Kabul  River  on  a  bridge  of  boats,  and  I 
saw  its  haunted  waters,  I  began  to  feel  the  atmosphere 
of  the  place  closing  down  upon  me.  It  had  a 
sinister  beauty;  it  breathed  suspense;  and  I  wished, 
as  I  was  sure  Vanna  did,  for  silence  that  was  not  at 
our  command. 

For  Mrs.  Delany  felt  nothing  of  it.  A  bright 
shallow  ripple  of  talk  was  her  contribution  to  the  joys 
of  the  day;  though  it  was,  fortunately,  enough  for  her 
happiness  if  we  listened  and  agreed.  I  knew  Vanna 
listened  only  in  show.  Her  intent  eyes  were  fixed  on 
the  Tahkt-i-Bahi  hills  after  we  had  swept  out  of  Now- 
shera;  and  when  the  car  drew  up  at  the  rough  track, 
she  had  a  strange  look  of  suspense  and  pallor.  I 
remember  I  wondered  at  the  time  if  she  were  nervous 
in  the  wild  open  country. 

"Now  pray  don't  be  shocked,"'  said  Mrs.  Delany 
comfortably;  "but  you  two  young  people  may  go  up 
to  the  monastery,  and  I  shall  stay  here.  I  am  dread 
fully  ashamed  of  myself,  but  the  sight  of  that  hill  is 
enough  for  me.  Don't  hurry.  I  may  have  a  little 
doze,  and  be  all  the  better  company  when  you  get 


THE  INTERPRETER  89 

back.  No,  don't  try  to  persuade  me,  Mr.  Clifden. 
It  isn't  the  part  of  a  friend." 

I  cannot  say  I  was  sorry,  though  I  had  a  moment 
of  panic  when  Vanna  offered  to  stay  with  her — very 
much,  too,  as  if  she  really  meant  it.  So  we  set  out 
perforce,  Vanna  leading  steadily,  as  if  she  knew  the 
way.  She  never  looked  up,  and  her  wish  for  silence 
was  so  evident,  that  I  followed,  lending  my  hand 
mutely  when  the  difficulties  obliged  it,  she  accepting 
absently,  and  as  if  her  thoughts  were  far  away. 

Suddenly  she  quickened  her  pace.  We  had 
climbed  about  nine  hundred  feet,  and  now  the  narrow 
track  twisted  through  the  rocks — a  track  that  looked 
as  age-worn  as  no  doubt  it  was.  We  threaded  it,  and 
struggled  over  the  ridge,  and  looked  down  victorious 
on  the  other  side. 

There  she  stopped.  A  very  wonderful  sight,  of 
which  I  had  never  seen  the  like,  lay  below  us.  Rock 
and  waste  and  towering  crags,  and  the  mighty  ruin 
of  the  monastery  set  in  the  fangs  of  the  mountain  like 
a  robber  baron's  castle,  looking  far  away  to  the  blue 
mountains  of  the  Debatable  Land — the  land  of 
mystery  and  danger.  It  stood  there — the  great  ruin 
of  a  vast  habitation  of  men.  Building  after  building, 
mysterious  and  broken,  corridors,  halls,  refectories, 
cells;  the  dwelling  of  a  faith  so  alien  that  I  could  not 
reconstruct  the  life  that  gave  it  being.  And  all  sink- 


90  THE  INTERPRETER 

ing  gently  into  ruin  that  in  a  century  more  would  con 
found  it  with  the  roots  of  the  mountains. 

Grey  and  wonderful,  it  clung  to  the  heights  and 
looked  with  eyeless  windows  at  the  past.  Somehow 
I  found  it  infinitely  pathetic;  the  very  faith  it  ex 
pressed  is  dead  in  India,  and  none  left  so  poor  to  do 
it  reverence. 

But  Vanna  knew  her  way.  Unerringly  she  led  me 
from  point  to  point,  and  she  was  visibly  at  home  in 
the  intricacies.  Such  knowledge  in  a  young  woman 
bewildered  me.  Could  she  have  studied  the  plans  in 
the  Museum?  How  else  should  she  know  where  the 
abbot  lived,  or  where  the  refractory  brothers  were 
punished? 

Once  I  missed  her,  while  I  stooped  to  examine 
some  scroll-work,  and  following,  found  her  before  one 
of  the  few  images  of  the  Buddha  that  the  rapacious 
Museum  had  spared — a  singularly  beautiful  bas- 
relief,  the  hand  raised  to  enforce  the  truth  the  calm 
lips  were  speaking,  the  drapery  falling  in  stately  folds 
to  the  bare  feet.  As  I  came  up,  she  had  an  air  as  if 
she  had  just  ceased  from  movement,  and  I  had  a 
distinct  feeling  that  she  had  knelt  before  it — I  saw 
the  look  of  worship!  The  thing  troubled  me  like  a 
dream,  haunting,  impossible,  but  real. 

"How  beautiful!"  I  said  in  spite  of  myself,  as  she 
pointed  to  the  image.  "In  this  utter  solitude  it  seems 
the  very  spirit  of  the  place." 


THE  INTERPRETER  91 

"He  was.     He  is,"  said  Vanna. 

"Explain  to  me.  I  don^t  understand.  I  know  so 
little  of  him.  What  is  the  subject?" 

She  hesitated;  then  chose  her  words  as  if  for  a 
beginner; — "It  is  the  Blessed  One  preaching  to  the 
Tree-Spirits.  See  how  eagerly  they  lean  from  the 
boughs  to  listen.  This  other  relief  represents  him  in 
the  state  of  mystic  vision.  Here  he  is  drowned  in 
peace.  See  how  it  overflows  from  the  closed  eyes; 
the  closed  lips.  The  air  is  filled  with  his  quiet." 

"What  is  he  dreaming?" 

"Not  dreaming — seeing.  Peace.  He  sits  at  the 
point  where  time  and  infinity  meet.  To  attain  that 
vision  was  the  aim  of  the  monks  who  lived  here." 

"Did  they  attain?"  I  found  myself  speaking  as 
if  she  could  certainly  answer. 

"A  few.  There  was  one,  Vasettha,  the  Brahman, 
a  young  man  who  had  renounced  all  his  possessions 
and  riches,  and  seated  here  before  this  image  of  the 
Blessed  One,  he  fell  often  into  the  mystic  state.  He 
had  a  strange  vision  at  one  time  of  the  future  of  India, 
which  will  surely  be  fulfilled.  He  did  not  forget  it 
in  his  rebirths.  He  remembers — " 

She  broke  off  suddenly  and  said  with  forced 
indifference, — "He  would  sit  here  often  looking  out 
over  the  mountains ;  the  monks  sat  at  his  feet  to  hear. 
He  became  abbot  while  still  young.  But  his  story  is 
a  sad  one." 


92  THE  INTERPRETER 

"I  entreat  you  to  tell  me." 

She  looked  away  over  the  mountains. 

"While  he  was  abbot  here, — still  a  young  man, — 
a  famous  Chinese  pilgrim  came  down  through 
Kashmir  to  visit  the  Holy  Places  in  India.  The  abbot 
went  forward  with  him  to  Peshawar,  that  he  might 
make  him  welcome.  And  there  came  a  dancer  to 
Peshawar,  named  Lilavanti,  most  beautiful!  I  dare 
not  tell  you  her  beauty.  I  tremble  now  to  think — " 

Again  she  paused,  and  again  the  faint  creeping 
sense  of  mystery  invaded  me. 

She  resumed; — 

"The  abbot  saw  her  and  he  loved  her.  He  was 
young  still,  you  remember.  She  was  a  woman  of  the 
Hindu  faith  and  hated  Buddhism.  It  swept  him 
down  into  the  lower  worlds  of  storm  and  desire.  He 
fled  with  Lilavanti  and  never  returned  here.  So  in 
his  rebirth  he  fell — " 

She  stopped  dead;  her  face  pale  as  death. 

"How  do  you  know?  Where  have  you  read  it? 
If  I  could  only  find  what  you  find  and  know  what  you 
know!  The  East  is  like  an  open  book  to  you.  Tell 
me  the  rest." 

"How  should  I  know  any  more?"  she  said 
hurriedly.  "We  must  be  going  back.  You  should 
study  the  plans  of  this  place  at  Peshawar.  They 
were  very  learned  monks  who  lived  here.  It  is 
famous  for  learning." 


THE  INTERPRETER  93 

The  life  had  gone  out  of  her  words — out  of  the 
ruins.  There  was  no  more  to  be  said. 

We  clambered  down  the  hill  in  the  hot  sunshine, 
speaking  only  of  the  view,  the  strange  shrubs  and 
flowers,  and,  once,  the  swift  gliding  of  a  snake,  and 
found  Mrs.  Delany  blissfully  asleep  in  the  most 
padded  corner  of  the  car.  The  spirit  of  the  East 
vanished  in  her  comfortable  presence,  and  luncheon 
seemed  the  only  matter  of  moment. 

"I  wonder,  my  dears,"  she  said,  "if  you  would  be 
very  disappointed  and  think  me  very  dense  if  I  pro 
posed  our  giving  up  the  Malakhand  Fort?  The 
driver  has  been  giving  me  in  very  poor  English  such 
an  account  of  the  dangers  of  that  awful  road  up  the 
hill  that  I  feel  no  Fort  would  repay  me  for  its  terrors. 
Do  say  what  you  feel,  Miss  Loring.  Mr.  Clifden  can 
lunch  with  the  officers  at  Nowshera  and  come  any 
time.  I  know  I  am  an  atrocity." 

There  could  be  only  one  answer,  though  Vanna 
and  I  knew  perfectly  well  the  crafty  design  of  the 
driver  to  spare  himself  work.  Mrs.  Delany  remained 
brightly  awake  for  the  run  home,  and  favoured  us 
with  many  remarkable  views  on  India  and  its  short 
comings,  Vanna,  who  had  a  sincere  liking  for  her, 
laughing  with  delight  at  her  description  of  a  visit  of 
condolence  with  Lady  Meryon  to  the  five  widows  of 
one  of  the  hill  Rajas. 

But   I   own  I   was   pre-occupied.     I   knew   those 


94  THE  INTERPRETER 

moments  at  the  monastery  had  given  me  a  glimpse 
into  the  wonderland  of  her  soul  that  made  me  long  for 
more.  It  was  rapidly  becoming  clear  to  me  that  un 
less  my  intentions  developed  on  very  different  lines 
I  must  flee  Peshawar.  For  love  is  born  of  sympathy, 
and  sympathy  was  strengthening  daily,  but  for  love 
I  had  no  courage  yet. 

I  feared  it  as  men  fear  the  unknown.  I  despised 
myself — but  I  feared.  I  will  confess  my  egregious 
folly  and  vanity — I  had  no  doubt  as  to  her  reception 
of  my  offer  if  I  should  make  it,  but  possessed  by  a 
colossal  selfishness,  I  thought  only  of  myself,  and 
from  that  point  of  view  could  not  decide  how  I  stood 
to  lose  or  gain.  In  my  wildest  accesses  of  vanity  I 
did  not  suppose  Vanna  loved  me,  but  I  felt  she  liked 
me,  and  I  believed  the  advantages  I  had  to  offer  would 
be  overwhelming  to  a  woman  in  her  position.  So, 
tossed  on  the  waves  of  indecision,  I  inclined  to  flight. 

That  night  I  resolutely  began  my  packing,  and 
wrote  a  note  of  farewell  to  Lady  Meryon.  The  next 
morning  I  furiously  undid  it,  and  destroyed  the  note. 
And  that  afternoon  I  took  the  shortest  way  to  the  sun 
set  road  to  lounge  about  and  wait  for  Vanna  and 
Winifred.  She  never  came,  and  I  was  as  unreason 
ably  angry  as  if  I  had  deserved  the  blessing  of  her 
presence. 

Next  day  I  could  see  that  she  tried  gently  but 
clearly  to  discourage  our  meeting  and  for  three  days 


THE  INTERPRETER  95 

I  never  saw  her  at  all.  Yet  I  knew  that  in  her  solitary 
life  our  talks  counted  for  a  pleasure,  and  when  we 
met  again  I  thought  I  saw  a  new  softness  in  the  lovely 
hazel  deeps  of  her  eyes. 

Ill 

On  the  day  when  things  became  clear  to 
me,  I  was  walking  towards  the  Meryons'  gates 
when  I  met  her  coming  alone  along  the  sun 
set  road,  in  the  late  gold  of  the  afternoon.  She 
looked  pale  and  a  little  wearied,  and  I  remember  I 
wished  I  did  not  know  every  change  of  her  face  as 
I  did.  It  was  a  symptom  that  alarmed  my  selfishness 
— it  galled  me  with  the  sense  that  I  was  no  longer  my 
own  despot. 

"So  you  have  been  up  the  Khyber  Pass,1"  she  said  as 
I  fell  into  step  at  her  side.  "Tell  me — was  it  as 
wonderful  as  you  expected?" 

"No,  no, — you  tell  me!  It  will  give  me  what  I 
missed.  Begin  at  the  beginning.  Tell  me  what 
I  saw." 

I  could  not  miss  the  delight  of  her  words,  and  she 
laughed,  knowing  my  whim. 

"Oh,  that  Pass! — the  wonder  of  those  old  roads 
that  have  borne  the  traffic  and  romance  of  the  world 
for  ages.  Do  you  think  there  is  anything  in  the 
world  so  fascinating  as  they  are?  But  did  you  go 
on  Tuesday  or  Friday?" 


96  THE  INTERPRETER 

For  these  are  the  only  days  in  the  week  when  the 
Khyber  can  be  safely  entered.  The  British  then  turn 
out  the  Khyber  Rifles  and  man  every  crag,  and  the 
loaded  caravans  move  like  a  tide,  and  go  up  and  down 
the  narrow  road  on  their  occasions. 

Naturally  mere  sightseers  are  not  welcomed,  for 
much  business  must  be  got  through  in  that  urgent 
forty  eight  hours  in  which  life  is  not  risked  in 
entering. 

"Tuesday.     But  make  a  picture  for  me." 

"Well,  you  gave  your  word  not  to  photograph  or 
sketch — as  if  one  wanted  to  when  every  bit  of  it  is 
stamped  on  one's  brain!  And  you  went  up  to 
Jumrood  Fort  at  the  entrance.  Did  they  tell  you  it  is 
an  old  Sikh  fort  and  has  been  on  duty  in  that  turbulent 
place  for  five  hundred  years?  And  did  you  see  the 
machine  guns  in  the  court?  And  every  one  armed — 
even  the  boys  with  belts  of  cartridges?  Then  you 
went  up  the  narrow  winding  track  between  the 
mountains,  and  you  said  to  yourself,  'This  is  the 
road  of  pure  romance.  It  goes  up  to  silken 
Samarkhand,  and  I  can  ride  to  Bokhara  of  the  beauti 
ful  women  and  to  all  the  dreams.  Am  I  alive  and 
is  it  real?  You  felt  that?" 

"All.     Every  bit.     Go  on!" 

She  smiled  with  pleasure. 

"And  you  saw  the  little  forts  on  the  crags  and  the 
men  on  guard  all  along  the  hills,  rifles  ready!  You 


THE  INTERPRETER  97 

could  hear  the  guns  rattle  as  they  saluted.  Do  you 
know  that  up  there  men  plough  with  rifles  loaded  be 
side  them?  They  have  to  be  men  indeed." 

"Do  you  mean  to  imply  that  we  are  not  men?" 

"Different  men  at  least.  This  is  life  in  a  Border 
ballad.  Such  a  life  as  you  knew  in  France  but 
beautiful  in  a  wild-hawk  sort  of  way.  Don't  the 
Khyber  Rifles  bewilder  you?  They  are  drawn  from 
these  very  Hill  tribes,  and  will  shoot  their  own  fathers 
and  brothers  in  the  way  of  duty  as  comfortably  as  if 
they  were  jackals.  Once  there  was  a  scrap  here  and 
one  of  the  tribesmen  sniped  our  men  unbearably. 
What  do  you  suppose  happened?  A  Khyber  Rifle 
came  to  the  Colonel  and  said,  'Let  me  put  an  end  to 
him,  Colonel  Sahib.  I  know  exactly  where  he  sits. 
He  is  my  grandfather.'  And  he  did  it!" 

"The  bond  of  bread  and  salt?" 

"Yes,  and  discipline.  I'm  sometimes  half  fright 
ened  of  discipline.  It  moulds  a  man  like  wax. 
Even  God  doesn't  do  that.  Well — then  you  had  the 
traders — wild  shaggy  men  in  sheepskin  and  women 
in  massive  jewelry  of  silver  and  turquoise, — great 
earrings,  heavy  bracelets  loading  their  arms,  wild, 
fierce,  handsome.  And  the  camels — thousands  of 
them,  some  going  up,  some  coming  down,  a  mass  of 
human  and  animal  life.  Above  you,  moving  figures 
against  the  keen  blue  sky,  or  deep  below  you  in  the 
ravines. 


98  THE  INTERPRETER 

The  camels  were  swaying  along  with  huge  bales  of 
goods,  and  dark  beautiful  women  in  wicker  cages 
perched  on  them.  Silks  and  carpets  from  Bokhara, 
and  blue-eyed  Persian  cats,  and  bluer  Persian 
turquoises.  Wonderful!  And  the  dust,  gilded  by 
the  sunshine,  makes  a  vaporous  golden  atmosphere  for 
it  all;' 

"What  was  the  most  wonderful  thing  you  saw 
there?" 

"The  most  beautiful,  I  think,  was  a  man — a 
splendid  dark  ruffian  lounging  along.  He  wanted  to 
show  off,  and  his  swagger  was  perfect.  Long  black 
onyx  eyes  and  a  tumble  of  black  curls,  and  teeth  like 
almonds.  But  what  do  you  think  he  carried  on  his 
wrist — a  hawk  with  fierce  yellow  eyes,  ringed  and 
chained.  Hawking  is  a  favourite  sport  in  the  hills. 
Oh,  why  doesn't  some  great  painter  come  and  paint 
it  all  before  they  take  to  trains  and  cars?  I  long  to 
see  it  all  again,  but  I  never  shall." 

"Why  not,"  said  I.  "Surely  Sir  John  can  get  you 
up  there  any  day?" 

"Not  now.  The  fighting  makes  it  difficult.  But 
it  isn't  that.  I  am  leaving." 

"Leaving?"  My  heart  gave  a  leap.  "Why? 
Where??' 

"Leaving  Lady  Meryon." 

"Why— for  Heaven's  sake?" 

"I  had  rather  not  tell  you." 


THE  INTERPRETER  99 

"But  I  must  know." 

"You  cannot.'1' 

"I  shall  ask  Lady  Meryon." 

"I  forbid  you." 

And  then  the  unexpected  happened,  and  an  unbear 
able  impulse  swept  me  into  folly — or  was  it  wisdom? 

"Listen  to  me.  I  would  not  have  said  it  yet,  but 
this  settles  it.  I  want  you  to  marry  me.  I  want  it 
atrociously!" 

It  was  a  strange  word.  What  I  felt  for  her  at  that 
moment  was  difficult  to  describe.  I  endured  it  like 
a  pain  that  could  only  be  assuaged  by  her  presence, 
but  I  endured  it  angrily.  We  were  walking  on  the 
sunset  road — very  deserted  and  quiet  at  the  time. 
The  place  was  propitious  if  nothing  else  was. 

She  looked  at  me  in  transparent  astonishment; 

"Mr.  Clifden,  are  you  dreaming?  You  can't  mean 
what  you  say." 

"Why  can't  I?  I  do.  I  want  you.  You  have  the 
key  of  all  I  care  for.  I  think  of  the  world  without 
you  and  find  it  tasteless." 

"Surely  you  have  all  the  world  can  give?  What 
do  you  want  more?" 

"The  power  to  enjoy  it — to  understand  it.  You 
have  got  that — I  haven't.  I  want  you  always  with 
me  to  interpret,  like  a  guide  to  a  blind  fellow.  I 
am  no  better." 

"Say  like  a  dog,  at  once!"  she  interrupted.     "At 


100  THE  INTERPRETER 

least  you  are  frank  enough  to  put  it  on  that  ground. 
You  have  not  said  you  love  me.  You  could  not  say 
it." 

"I  don't  know  whether  I  do  or  not.  I  know  noth 
ing  about  love.  I  want  you.  Indescribably.  Per 
haps  that  is  love — is  it?  I  never  wanted  any  one  be 
fore.  I  have  tried  to  get  away  and  I  can't." 

I  was  brutally  frank,  you  see.  She  compelled  my 
very  thoughts. 

"Why  have  you  tried?" 

"Because  every  man  likes  freedom.  But  I  like 
you  better." 

"I  can  tell  you  the  reason."  she  said  in  her  gentle 
unwavering  voice.  "I  am  Lady  Meryonl's  governess, 
and  an  undesirable.  You  have  felt  that?" 

"Don't  make  me  out  such  a  snob.  No — yes.  You 
force  me  into  honesty.  I  did  feel  it  at  first  like  the 
miserable  fool  I  am,  but  I  could  kick  myself  when  I 
think  of  that  now.  It  is  utterly  forgotten.  Take  me 
and  make  me  what  you  will,  and  forgive  me.  Only 
tell  me  your  secret  of  joy.  How  is  it  you  understand 
everything  alive  or  dead?  I  want  to  live — to  see,  to 
know." 

It  was  a  rhapsody  like  a  boy's.  Yet  at  the  moment 
I  was  not  even  ashamed  of  it,  so  sharp  was  my  need. 

"I  think,"  she  said,  slowly,  looking  straight  before 
her,  "that  I  had  better  be  quite  frank.  I  don't  love 
you.  I  don't  know  what  love  means  in  the  Western 


THE  INTERPRETER  101 

sense.  It  has  a  very  different  meaning  for  me. 
Your  voice  comes  to  me  from  an  immense  distance 
when  you  speak  in  that  way.  You  want  me — but 
never  with  a  thought  of  what  I  might  want.  Is  that 
love?  I  like  you  very  deeply  as  a  friend,  but  we  are 
of  different  races.  There  is  a  gulf." 

"A  gulf?     You  are  English." 

"By  birth,  yes.  In  mind,  no.  And  there  are 
things  that  go  deeper,  that  you  could  not  understand. 
So  I  refuse  quite  definitely,  and  our  ways  part  here, 
for  in  a  few  days  I  go.  I  shall  not  see  you  again, 
but  I  wish  to  say  good-bye." 

The  bitterest  chagrin  was  working  in  my  soul.  I 
felt  as  if  all  were  deserting  me — a  sickening 
feeling  of  loneliness.  I  did  not  know  the  man  who 
was  in  me,  and  was  a  stranger  to  myself. 

"I  entreat  you  to  tell  me  why,  and  where." 

"Since  you  have  made  me  this  offer,  I  will  tell  you 
why.  Lady  Meryon  objected  to  my  friendship  with 
you,  and  objected  in  a  way  which — " 

She  stopped,  flushing  palely.     I  caught  her  hand. 

"That  settles  it! — that  she  should  have  dared! 
I'll  go  up  this  minute  and  tell  her  we  are  engaged. 
Vanna — Vanna ! " 

For  she  disengaged  her  hand,  quietly  but  firmly. 

"On  no  account.  How  can  I  make  it  more  plain  to 
you?  I  should  have  gone  soon  in  any  case.  My 
place  is  in  the  native  city — that  is  the  life  I  want.  I 


102  THE  INTERPRETER 

have  work  there,  I  knew  it  before  I  came  out.  My 
sympathies  are  all  with  them.  They  know  what  life 
is — why  even  the  beggars,  poorer  than  poor,  are 
perfectly  happy,  basking  in  the  great  generous  sun. 
Oh,  the  splendour  and  riot  of  life  and  colour!  That's 
my  life — I  sicken  of  this." 

"But  I'll  give  it  to  you.  Marry  me,  and  we  will 
travel  till  you're  tired  of  it." 

"Yes,  and  look  on  as  at  a  play — sitting  in  the  stalls, 
and  applauding  when  we  are  pleased.  No,  I'm  going 
to  work  there." 

"For  God's  sake,  how?     Let  me  come  too." 

"You  can't.  You're  not  in  it.  I  am  going  to 
attach  myself  to  the  medical  mission  at  Lahore  and 
learn  nursing,  and  then  I  shall  go  to  my  own  people." 

"Missionaries?  You've  nothing  in  common  with 
them?" 

"Nothing.  But  they  teach  what  I  want.  Mr. 
Clifden,  I  shall  not  come  this  way  again.  If  I 
remember — I'll  write  to  you,  and  tell  you  what  the 
real  world  is  like." 

She  smiled,  the  absorbed  little  smile  I  knew  and 
feared.  I  saw  pleading  was  useless  then.  I  would 
wait,  and  never  lose  sight  of  her  and  of  hope. 

"Vanna,  before  you  go,  give  me  your  gift  of  sight. 
Interpret  for  me.  Stay  with  me  a  little  and  make  me 
see." 


THE  INTERPRETER  103 

"What  do  you  mean  exactly?"  she  asked  in  her 
gentlest  voice,  half  turning  to  me. 

"Make  one  journey  with  me,  as  my  sister,  if  you 
will  do  no  more.  Though  I  warn  you  that  all  the 
time  I  shall  be  trying  to  win  my  wife.  But  come  with 
me  once,  and  after  that — if  you  will  go,  you  must. 
Say  yes." 

Madness!  But  she  hesitated — a  hesitation  full 
of  hope,  and  looked  at  me  with  intent  eyes. 

"I  will  tell  you  frankly,"  she  said  at  last,  "that  I 
know  my  knowledge  of  the  East  and  kinship  with  it 
goes  far  beyond  mere  words.  In  my  case  the  doors 
were  not  shut.  I  believe — I  know  that  long  ago  this 
was  my  life.  If  I  spoke  for  ever  I  could  not  make 
you  understand  how  much  I  know  and  why.  So  I 
shall  quite  certainly  go  back  to  it.  Nothing — you 
least  of  all,  can  hold  me  But  you  are  my  friend — 
that  is  a  true  bond.  And  if  you  would  wish  me  to 
give  you  two  months  before  I  go,  I  might  do  that  if  it 
would  in  any  way  help  you.  As  your  friend  only — 
you  clearly  understand.  You  would  not  reproach  me 
afterwards  when  I  left  you,  as  I  should  most  certainly 
do?" 

"I  swear  I  would  not.  I  swear  I  would  protect  you 
even  from  myself.  I  want  you  for  ever,  but  if  you 
will  only  give  me  two  months — Come!  But  have  you 
thought  that  people  will  talk.  It  may  injure  you. 


104  THE  INTERPRETER 

I'm  not  worth  that,  God  knows.     And  you  will  take 
nothing  I  could  give  you  in  return." 

She  spoke  very  quietly. 

"That  does  not  trouble  me.  It  would  only  trouble 
me  if  you  asked  what  I  have  not  to  give.  For  two 
months  I  would  travel  with  you  as  a  friend,  if,  like 
a  friend,  I  paid  my  own  expenses — v 

I  would  have  interrupted,  but  she  brushed  that 
firmly  aside. 

"No,  I  must  do  as  I  say,  and  I  am  quite  able 
to  or  I  should  not  suggest  it.  I  would  go  on  no 
other  terms.  It  would  be  hard  if  because  we  are 
man  and  woman  I  might  not  do  one  act  of  friend 
ship  for  you  before  we  part.  For  though  I  refuse 
your  offer  utterly,  I  appreciate  it,  and  I  would  make 
what  little  return  I  can.  It  would  be  a  sharp  pain 
to  me  to  distress  you." 

Her  gentleness  and  calm,  the  magnitude  of  the  offer 
she  was  making  stunned  me  so  that  I  could  scarcely 
speak.  There  was  such  an  extraordinary  simplicity 
and  generosity  in  her  manner  that  it  appeared  to  me 
more  enthralling  and  bewildering  than  the  most 
finished  coquetry  I  had  ever  known.  She  gave  me 
opportunities  that  the  most  ardent  lover  could  in  his 
wildest  dream  desire,  and  with  the  remoteness  in  her 
eyes  and  her  still  voice  she  deprived  them  of  all  hope. 
It  kindled  in  me  a  flame  that  made  my  throat  dry 
when  I  tried  to  speak. 


THE  INTERPRETER  105 

"Vanna,  is  it  a  promise?     You  mean  it?" 
"If  you  wish  it,  yes.     But  I  warn  you  I  think  it 
will  not  make  it  easier  for  you  when  the  time  is 


over." 


"Why  two  months?" 

"Partly  because  I  can  afford  no  more.  No!  I 
know  what  you  would  say.  Partly  because  I  can 
spare  no  more  time.  But  I  will  give  you  that,  if  you 
wish,  though,  honestly,  I  had  very  much  rather  not. 
I  think  it  unwise  for  you.  I  would  protect  you  if 
I  could — indeed  I  would!" 

It  was  my  turn  to  hesitate  now.  Every  moment 
revealed  to  me  some  new  sweetness,  some  charm  that 
I  saw  would  weave  itself  into  the  very  fibre  of  my 
being  if  the  opportunity  were  given.  Oh,  fool  that 
I  had  been!  Was  I  not  now  a  fool?  Would  it  not 
be  better  to  let  her  go  before  she  had  become  a  part 
of  my  daily  experience?  I  began  to  fear  I  was 
courting  my  own  shipwreck.  She  read  my  thoughts 
clearly. 

"Indeed  you  would  be  wise  to  decide  against  it. 
Release  me  from  my  promise.  It  was  a  mad 
scheme." 

The  superiority — or  so  I  felt  it — of  her  gentleness 
maddened  me.  It  might  have  been  I  who  needed 
protection,  who  was  running  the  risk  of  misjudg- 
ment — not  she,  a  lonely  woman.  She  looked  at  me, 
waiting — trying  to  be  wise  for  me,  never  for  one 


106  THE  INTERPRETER 

instant  thinking  of  herself.  I  felt  utterly  exiled 
from  the  real  purpose  of  her  life. 

"I  will  never  release  you.  I  claim  your  prom 
ise.  I  hold  to  it." 

"Very  well  then — I  will  write,  and  tell  you  where 
I  shall  be.  Good-bye,  and  if  you  change  your  mind, 
as  I  hope  you  will,  tell  me." 

She  extended  her  hand  cool  as  a  snowflake,  and 
was  gone,  walking  swiftly  up  the  road.  Ah,  let  a 
man  beware  when  his  wishes  fulfilled,  rain  down  up 
on  him! 

To  what  had  I  committed  myself?  She  knew  her 
strength  and  had  no  fears.  I  could  scarcely  realize 
that  she  had  liking  enough  for  me  to  make  the  offer. 
That  it  meant  no  shade  more  than  she  had  said  I  knew 
well.  She  was  safe,  but  what  was  to  be  the  result  for 
me?  I  knew  nothing — she  was  a  beloved  mystery. 

"Strange  she  is  and  secret, 
Strange  her  eyes;  her  cheeks  are  cold  as  cold  sea-shells." 

Yet  I  would  risk  it,  for  I  knew  there  was  no  hope  if 
I  let  her  go  now,  and  if  I  saw  her  again,  some  glimmer 
might  fall  upon  my  dark. 
Next  day  this  reached  me : — 

Dear  Mr.  Clifden, — 

I  am  going  to  some  Indian  friends  for  a  time.  On  the 
15th  of  June  I  shall  be  at  Srinagar  in  Kashmir.  A  friend 
has  allowed  me  to  take  her  little  houseboat,  the  "Kedar- 
nath."  If  you  like  this  plan  we  will  share  the  cost  for  two 


THE  INTERPRETER  107 

months.  I  warn  you  it  is  not  luxurious,  but  I  think  you  will 
like  it.  I  shall  do  this  whether  you  come  or  no,  for  I  want 
a  quiet  time  before  I  take  up  my  nursing  in  Lahore.  In 
thinking  of  all  this  will  you  remember  that  I  am  not  a  girl 
but  a  woman.  I  shall  be  twenty-nine  my  next  birthday. 

Sincerely  yours, 

VANNA  LORING. 

P.  S.     But  I  still  think  you  would  be  wiser  not  to  come. 
I  hope  to  hear  you  will  not. 

I  replied  only  this: — 

Dear  Miss  Loring, — 

I  think  I  understand  the  position  fully.  I  will  be 
there.  I  thank  you  with  all  my  heart. 

Gratefully  yours, 

STEPHEN  CLIFDEN. 

IV 

Three  days  later  I  met  Lady  Meryon,  and  was 
swept  in  to  tea.  Her  manner  was  distinctly  more 
cordial  as  she  mentioned  casually  that  Vanna  had 
left — she  understood  to  take  up  missionary  work — 
"which  is  odd,"  she  added  with  a  woman's  acrimony, 
"for  she  had  no  more  in  common  with  missionaries 
than  I  have,  and  that  is  saying  a  good  deal.  Of 
course  she  speaks  Hindustani  perfectly,  and  could 
be  useful,  but  I  haven't  grasped  the  point  of  it 
yet." 

I  saw  she  counted  on  my  knowing  nothing  of  the 
real  reason  of  Vanna's  going  and  left  it,  of  course,  at 


108  THE  INTERPRETER 

that.  The  talk  drifted  away  under  my  guidance. 
Vanna  evidently  puzzled  her.  She  half  feared,  and 
wholly  misunderstood  her. 

No  message  came  to  me,  as  time  went  by,  and  for 
the  time  she  had  vanished  completely,  but  I  held 
fast  to  her  promise  and  lived  on  that  only. 

I  take  up  my  life  where  it  ceased  to  be  a  mere 
suspense  and  became  life  once  more. 

On  the  15th  of  June,  I  found  myself  riding  into 
Srinagar  in  Kashmir,  through  the  pure  tremulous 
green  of  the  mighty  poplars  that  hedge  the  road  into 
the  city.  The  beauty  of  the  country  had  half 
stunned  me  when  I  entered  the  mountain  barrier  of 
Baramula  and  saw  the  snowy  peaks  that  guard  the 
Happy  Valley,  with  the  Jhelum  flowing  through  its 
tranquil  loveliness.  The  flush  of  the  almond  blos 
som  was  over,  but  the  iris,  like  a  blue  sea  of  peace 
had  overflowed  the  world — the  azure  meadows 
smiled  back  at  the  radiant  sky.  Such  blossom!  the 
blue  shading  into  clear  violet,  like  a  shoaling  sea. 
The  earth,  like  a  cup  held  in  the  hand  of  a  god, 
brimmed  with  the  draught  of  youth  and  summer 
and — love?  But  no,  for  me  the  very  word  was 
sinister.  Vanna's  face,  immutably  calm,  confronted 
it. 

That  night  I  slept  in  a  boat  at  Sopor,  and  I  re 
member  that,  waking  at  midnight,  I  looked  out  and 
saw  a  mountain  with  a  gloriole  of  hazy  silver  about 


THE  INTERPRETER  109 

it,  misty  and  faint  as  a  cobweb  threaded  with  dew. 
The  river,  there  spreading  into  a  lake,  was  dark 
under  it,  flowing  in  a  deep  smooth  blackness  of 
shadow,  and  everything  awaited — what?  And  even 
while  I  looked,  the  moon  floated  serenely  above  the 
peak,  and  all  was  bathed  in  pure  light,  the  water 
rippling  and  shining  in  broken  silver  and  pearl.  So 
had  Vanna  floated  into  my  sky,  luminous,  sweet,  re 
mote.  I  did  not  question  my  heart  any  more.  I 
knew  I  loved  her. 

Two  days  later  I  rode  into  Srinagar,  and  could 
scarcely  see  the  wild  beauty  of  that  strange  Venice 
of  the  East,  my  heart  was  so  beating  in  my  eyes.  I 
rode  past  the  lovely  wooden  bridges  where  the  bal 
conied  houses  totter  to  each  other  across  the  canals  in 
dim  splendour  of  carving  and  age;  where  the  many- 
colored  native  life  crowds  down  to  the  river  steps  and 
cleanses  its  flower-bright  robes,  its  gold-bright  brass 
vessels  in  the  shining  stream,  and  my  heart  said 
only — Vanna,  Vanna! 

One  day,  one  thought,  of  her  absence  had  taught  me 
what  she  was  to  me,  and  if  humility  and  patient  en 
deavour  could  raise  me  to  her  feet,  I  was  resolved 
that  I  would  spend  my  life  in  labour  and  think  it 
well  spent. 

My  servant  dismounted  and  led  his  horse,  asking 
from  every  one  where  the  "Kedarnath"  could  be 
found,  and  eager  black  eyes  sparkled  and  two  little 


110  THE  INTERPRETER 

bronze  images  detached  themselves  from  the  crowd  of 
boys,  and  ran,  fleet  as  fauns,  before  us. 

Above  the  last  bridge  the  Jhelum  broadens  out  in 
to  a  stately  river,  controlled  at  one  side  by  the  banked 
walk  known  as  the  Bund,  with  the  Club  House  upon  it 
and  the  line  of  houseboats  beneath.  Here  the  visi 
tors  flutter  up  and  down  and  exchange  the  gossip, 
the  bridge  appointments,  the  little  dinners  that  sit  so 
incongruously  on  the  pure  Orient  that  is  Kashmir. 

She  would  not  be  here.  My  heart  told  me  that, 
and  sure  enough  the  boys  were  leading  across  the 
bridge  and  by  a  quiet  shady  way  to  one  of  the  many 
backwaters  that  the  great  river  makes  in  the 
enchanting  city.  There  is  one  waterway  stretching 
on  and  afar  to  the  Dal  Lake.  It  looks  like  a  river — 
it  is  the  very  haunt  of  peace.  Under  those  mighty 
chenar,  or  plane  trees,  that  are  the  glory  of  Kashmir, 
clouding  the  water  with  deep  green  shadows,  the  sun 
can  scarcely  pierce,  save  in  a  dipping  sparkle  here  and 
there  to  intensify  the  green  gloom.  The  murmur  of 
the  city,  the  chatter  of  the  club,  are  hundreds  of  miles 
away.  We  rode  downward  under  the  towering  trees, 
and  dismounting,  saw  a  little  houseboat  tethered  to  the 
bank.  It  was  not  of  the  richer  sort  that  haunts  the 
Bund,  where  the  native  servants  follow  in  a  separate 
boat,  and  even  the  electric  light  is  turned  on  as  part 
of  the  luxury.  This  was  a  long  low  craft,  very  broad, 
thatched  like  a  country  cottage  afloat.  In  the  fore- 


THE  INTERPRETER  111 

part  lived  the  native  owner,  and  his  family,  their 
crew,  our  cooks  and  servants;  for  they  played  many 
parts  in  our  service.  And  in  the  afterpart,  room  for 
a  life,  a  dream,  the  joy  or  curse  of  many  days  to  be. 

But  then,  I  saw  only  one  thing — Vanna  sat  under 
the  trees,  reading,  or  looking  at  the  cool  dim  watery 
vista,  with  a  single  boat,  loaded  to  the  river's  edge 
with  melons  and  scarlet  tomatoes,  punting  lazily  down 
to  Srinagar  in  the  sleepy  afternoon. 

She  was  dressed  in  white  with  a  shady  hat,  and  her 
delicate  dark  face  seemed  to  glow  in  the  shadow  like 
the  heart  of  a  pale  rose.  For  the  first  time  I  knew  she 
was  beautiful.  Beauty  shone  in  her  like  the  flame  in 
an  alabaster  lamp,  serene,  diffused  in  the  very  air 
about  her,  so  that  to  me  she  moved  in  a  mild  radiance. 
She  rose  to  meet  me  with  both  hands  outstretched — 
the  kindest,  most  cordial  welcome.  Not  an  eyelash 
flickered,  not  a  trace  of  self-consciousness.  If  I 
could  have  seen  her  flush  or  tremble —  but  no — her 
eyes  were  clear  and  calm  as  a  forest  pool.  So  I 
remembered  her.  So  I  saw  her  once  more. 

I  tried,  with  a  hopeless  pretence,  to  follow  her  ex 
ample  and  hide  what  I  felt,  where  she  had  nothing  to 
hide. 

"What  a  place  you  have  found.  Why,  it's  like 
the  deep  heart  of  a  wood!" 

"Yes,  I  saw  it  once  when  I  was  here  with  the 
Meryons.  But  we  lay  at  the  Bund  then — just  under 


112  THE  INTERPRETER 

the  Club.     This  is  better.     Did  you  like  the  ride  up?''' 

I  threw  myself  on  the  grass  beside  her  with  a 
feeling  of  perfect  rest. 

"It  was  like  a  new  heaven  and  a,  new  earth.  What 
a  country!" 

The  very  spirit  of  Quiet  seemed  to  be  drowsing 
in  those  branches  towering  up  into  the  blue,  dipping 
their  green  fingers  into  the  crystal  of  the  water. 
What  a  heaven! 

"Now  you  shall  have  your  tea  and  then  I  will  show 
you  your  rooms,"  she  said,  smiling  at  my  delight. 
"We  shall  stay  here  a  few  days  more  that  you  may 
see  Srinagar,  and  then  they  tow  us  up  into  the  Dal 
Lake  opposite  the  Gardens  of  the  Mogul  Emperors. 
And  if  you  think  this  beautiful  what  will  you  say 
then?" 

I  shut  my  eyes  and  see  still  that  first  meal  of  my 
new  life.  The  little  table  that  Pir  Baksh,  breathing 
full  East  in  his  jade-green  turban,  set  before  her, 
with  its  cloth  worked  in  a  pattern  of  the  chenar  leaves 
that  are  the  symbol  of  Kashmir;  the  brown  cakes 
made  by  Ahmad  Khan  in  a  miraculous  kitchen  of  his 
own  invention — a  few  holes  burrowed  in  the  river 
bank,  a  smouldering  fire  beneath  them,  and  a  width 
of  canvas  for  a  roof.  But  it  served,  and  no  more 
need  be  asked  of  luxury.  And  Vanna,  making  it 
mysteriously  the  first  home  I  ever  had  known,  the 
central  joy  of  it  all.  Oh,  wonderful  days  of  life  that 


THE  INTERPRETER  113 

breathe  the  spirit  of  immortality  and  pass  so  quickly 
—surely  they  must  be  treasured  somewhere  in 
Eternity  that  we  may  look  upon  their  beloved  light 
once  more. 

"Now  you  must  see  the  boat.  The  Kedarnath  is 
not  a  Dreadnought,  but  she  is  broad  and  very  com 
fortable.  And  we  have  many  chaperons.  They  all 
live  in  the  bows,  and  exist  simply  to  protect  the  Sahib- 
log  from  all  discomfort,  and  very  well  they  do  it. 
That  is  Ahmad  Khan  by  the  kitchen.  He  cooks  for 
us.  Salama  owns  the  boat,  and  steers  her  and 
engages  the  men  to  tow  us  when  we  move.  And  when 
I  arrived  he  aired  a  little  English  and  said  piously; 
"The  Lord  help  me  to  give  you  no  trouble,  and  the 
Lord  help  you!"  That  is  his  wife  sitting  on  the  bank. 
She  speaks  little  but  Kashmiri,  but  I  know  a  little  of 
that.  Look  at  the  hundred  rat-tail  plaits  of  her  hair, 
lengthened  with  wool,  and  see  her  silver  and  turquoise 
jewelery.  She  wears  much  of  the  family  fortune  and 
is  quite  a  walking  bank.  Salama,  Ahmad  Khan  and 
I  talk  by  the  hour.  Ahmad  comes  from  Fyzabad. 
Look  at  Salama's  boy — I  call  him  the  Orange  Imp. 
Did  you  ever  see  anything  so  beautiful?" 

I  looked  in  sheer  delight,  and  grasped  my  camera. 
Sitting  near  us  was  a  lovely  little  Kashmiri  boy  of 
about  eight,  in  a  faded  orange  coat,  and  a  turban 
exactly  like  his  father's.  His  curled  black  eyelashes 
were  so  long  that  they  made  a  soft  gloom  over  the 


114  THE  INTERPRETER 

upper  part  of  the  little  golden  face.  The  perfect 
bow  of  the  scarlet  lips,  the  long  eyes,  the  shy  smile, 
suggested  an  Indian  Eros.  He  sat  dipping  his  feet 
in  the  water  with  little  pigeon-like  cries  of  content. 

"He  paddles  at  the  bow  of  our  little  shikara  boat 
with  a  paddle  exactly  like  a  water-lily  leaf.  Do  you 
like  our  friends?  I  love  them  already,  and  know  all 
their*  affairs.  And  now  for  the  boat.1" 

"One  moment — If  we  are  friends  on  a  great 
adventure,  I  must  call  you  Vanna,  and  you  me 
Stephen." 

"Yes,  I  suppose  that  is  part  of  it,"  she  said, 
smiling.  "Come,  Stephen." 

It  was  like  music,  but  a  cold  music  that  chilled  me. 
She  should  have  hesitated,  should  have  flushed — it 
was  I  who  trembled. 

So  I  followed  her  across  the  broad  plank  into  our 
new  home. 

"This  is  our  sitting-room.     Look,  how  charming!" 

It  was  better  than  charming;  it  was  home  indeed. 
Windows  at  each  side  opening  down  almost  to  the 
water,  a  little  table  for  meals  that  lived  mostly  on  the 
bank,  with  a  grey  pot  of  iris  in  the  middle.  Another 
table  for  writing,  photography,  and  all  the  little 
pursuits  of  travel.  A  bookshelf  with  some  well- 
worn  friends.  Two  long  cushioned  chairs.  Two  for 
meals,  and  a  Bokhara  rug,  soft  and  pleasant  for  the 
feet.  The  interior  was  plain  unpainted  wood,  but 


THE  INTERPRETER  115 

set  so  that  the  grain  showed  like  satin  in  the  rippling 
lights  from  the  water. 

That  is  the  inventory  of  the  place  I  have  loved  best 
in  the  world,  but  what  eloquence  can  describe  what  it 
gave  me,  what  its  memory  gives  me  to  this  day?  And 
I  have  no  eloquence — what  I  felt  leaves  me  dumb. 

"It  is  perfect,"  was  all  I  said  as  she  waved  her  hand 
proudly.  "It  is  home." 

"And  if  you  had  come  alone  to  Kashmir  you  would 
have  had  a  great  rich  boat  with  electric  light  and  a 
butler.  You  would  never  have  seen  the  people  ex 
cept  at  meal-times.  I  think  you  will  like  this  better. 
Well,  this  is  your  tiny  bedroom,  and  your  bathroom, 
and  beyond  the  sitting-room  are  mine.  Do  you  like 
it  all?" 

But  I  could  say  no  more.  The  charm  of  her  own 
personality  had  touched  everything  and  left  its 
fragrance  like  a  flower-breath  in  the  air.  I  was 
beggared  of  thanks,  but  my  whole  soul  was  gratitude. 
We  dined  on  the  bank  that  evening,  the  lamp  burning 
steadily  in  the  still  air  and  throwing  broken  reflections 
in  the  water,  while  the  moon  looked  in  upon  them 
through  the  leaves.  I  felt  extraordinarily  young  and 
happy. 

The  quiet  of  her  voice  was  soft  as  the  little  lap  of 
water  against  the  bows  of  the  boat,  and  Kahdra,  the 
Orange  Imp,  was  singing  a  little  wordless  song  to  him 
self  as  he  washed  the  plates  beside  us.  It  was  a 


116  THE  INTERPRETER 

simple  meal,  and  Vanna,  abstemious  as  a  hermit, 
never  ate  anything  but  rice  and  fruit,  but  I  could 
remember  no  meal  in  all  my  days  of  luxury  where  I 
had  eaten  with  such  zest. 

"It  looks  very  grand  to  have  so  many  to  wait  upon 
us,  doesn't  it?  But  this  is  one  of  the  cheapest 
countries  in  the  world  though  the  old  timers  mourn 
over  present  expenses.  You  will  laugh  when  I  show 
you  your  share  of  the  cost.1" 

"The  wealth  of  the  world  could  not  buy  this,"  I 
said,  and  was  silent. 

"But  you  must  listen  to  my  plans.  We  must  do  a 
little  camping  the  last  three  weeks  before  we  part. 
Up  in  the  mountains.  Are  they  not  marvellous? 
They  stand  like  a  rampart  round  us,  but  not  cold  and 
terrible,  but  "Like  as  the  hills  stand  round  about 
Jerusalem" — they  are  guardian  presences.  And  run 
ning  up  into  them,  high — very  high,  are  the  valleys 
and  hills  where  we  shall  camp.  Tomorrow  we  shall 
row  through  Srinagar,  by  the  old  Maharaja's  palace." 


And  so  began  a  life  of  sheer  enchantment.  We 
knew  no  one.  The  visitors  in  Kashmir  change  nearly 
every  season,  and  no  one  cared — no  one  asked  any 
thing  of  us,  and  as  for  our  shipmates,  a  willing 
affectionate  service  was  their  gift,  and  no  more. 
Looking  back,  I  know  in  what  a  wonder-world  I  was 


THE  INTERPRETER  117 

privileged  to  live.  Vanna  could  talk  with  them  all. 
She  did  not  move  apart,  a  condescending  or  indifferent 
foreigner.  Kahdra  would  come  to  her  knee  and 
prattle  to  her  of  the  great  snake  that  lived  up  on 
Mahadeo  to  devour  erring  boys  who  omitted  their 
prayers  at  proper  Moslem  intervals.  She  would  sit 
with  the  baby  in  her  lap  while  the  mother  busied  her 
self  in  the  sunny  bows  with  the  mysterious  dishes 
that  smelt  so  savoury  to  a  hungry  man.  The  cuts,  the 
bruises  of  the  neighbourhood  all  came  to  Vanna  for 
treatment. 

"I  am  graduating  as  a  nurse,"  she  would  say 
laughing  as  she  bent  over  the  lean  arm  of  some 
weirdly  wrinkled  old  lady,  bandaging  and  soothing  at 
the  same  moment.  Her  reward  would  be  some  bit  of 
folk-lore,  some  quaintness  of  gratitude  that  I  noted 
down  in  the  little  book  I  kept  for  remembrance — 
that  I  do  not  need,  for  every  word  is  in  my  heart. 

We  rowed  down  through  the  city  next  day — Salama 
rowing,  and  little  Kahdra  lazily  paddling  at  the  bow 
—a  wonderful  city,  with  its  narrow  ways  begrimed 
with  the  dirt  of  ages,  and  its  balconied  houses  looking 
as  if  disease  and  sin  had  soaked  into  them  and  given 
them  a  vicious  tottering  beauty,  horrible  and  yet  lovely 
too.  We  saw  the  swarming  life  of  the  bazaar,  the 
white  turbans  coming  and  going,  diversified  by  the 
rose  and  yellow  Hindu  turbans,  and  the  caste-marks, 
orange  and  red,  on  the  dark  brows. 


118  THE  INTERPRETER 

I  saw  two  women — girls — painted  and  tired  like 
Jezebel,  looking  out  of  one  window  carved  and  old, 
and  the  grey  burnished  doves  flying  about  it.  They 
leaned  indolently,  like  all  the  old,  old  wickedness  of 
the  East  that  yet  is  ever  young — "Flowers  of  Delight," 
with  smooth  black  hair  braided  with  gold  and 
blossoms,  and  covered  with  pale  rose  veils,  and  gold 
embossed  disks  swinging  like  lamps  beside  the  olive 
cheeks,  the  great  eyes  artificially  lengthened  and 
darkened  with  soorma,  and  the  curves  of  the  full  lips 
emphasized  with  vermilion.  They  looked  down  on 
us  with  apathy,  a  dull  weariness  that  held  all  the  old 
evil  of  the  wicked  humming  city. 

It  had  taken  shape  in  those  indolent  bodies  and 
heavy  eyes  that  could  flash  into  life  as  a  snake  wakes 
into  fierce  darting  energy  when  the  time  comes  to 
spring — direct  inheritrixes  from  Lilith,  in  the  fittest 
setting  in  the  world — the  almost  exhausted  vice  of  an 
Oriental  city  as  old  as  time. 

"And  look — below  here,"  said  Vanna,  pointing  to 
one  of  the  ghauts — long  rugged  steps  running  down 
to  the  river. 

"When  I  came  yesterday,  a  great  broken  crowd  was 
collected  here,  almost  shouldering  each  other  into  the 
water  where  a  boat  lay  rocking.  In  it  lay  the  body 
of  a  man  brutally  murdered  for  the  sake  of  a  few 
rupees  and  flung  into  the  river.  I  could  see  the 
poor  brown  body  stark  in  the  boat  with  a  friend 


THE  INTERPRETER  119 

weeping  beside  it.  On  the  lovely  deodar  bridge 
people  leaned  over,  watching  with  a  grim  open- 
mouthed  curiosity,  and  business  went  on  gaily  where 
the  jewelers  make  the  silver  bangles  for  slender  wrists, 
and  the  rows  of  silver  chains  that  make  the  necks  like 
'the  Tower  of  Damascus  builded  for  an  armory.'  It 
was  all  very  wild  and  cruel.  I  went  down  to  them — " 

"Vanna — you  went  down?     Horrible!" 

"No,  you  see  I  heard  them  say  the  wife  was  almost 
a  child  and  needs  help.  So  I  went.  Once  long  ago 
at  Peshawar  I  saw  the  same  thing  happen,  and  they 
came  and  took  the  child  for  the  service  of  the  gods, 
for  she  was  most  lovely,  and  she  clung  to  the  feet  of 
a  man  in  terror,  and  the  priest  stabbed  her  to  the 
heart.  She  died  in  my  arms." 

"Good  God!"  I  said,  shuddering;  "what  a  sight 
for  you!  Did  they  never  hang  him?" 

"He  was  not  punished.  I  told  you  it  was  a  very 
long  time  ago." 

Her  expression  had  a  brooding  quiet  as  she  looked 
down  into  the  running  river,  almost  it  might  be  as  if 
she  saw  the  picture  of  that  past  misery  in  the  deep 
water.  She  said  no  more.  But  in  her  words  and  the 
terrible  crowding  of  its  life,  Srinagar  seemed  to  me 
more  of  a  nightmare  than  anything  I  had  seen,  ex 
cepting  only  Benares;  for  the  holy  Benares  is  a 
memory  of  horror,  with  a  sense  of  blood  hidden  under 
its  frantic  crazy  devotion,  and  not  far  hidden  either. 


120  THE  INTERPRETER 

Our  own  green  shade,  when  we  pulled  back  to  it  in 
the  evening  cool,  was  a  refuge  of  unspeakable  quiet. 
She  read  aloud  to  me  that  evening  by  the  small  light 
of  our  lamp  beneath  the  trees,  and,  singularly,  she 
read  of  joy. 

"I  have  drunk  of  the  Cup  of  the  Ineffable, 
I  have  found  the  key  of  the  Mystery, 
Travelling  by  no  track  I  have  come  to  the  Sorrowless 
Land;  very  easily  has  the  mercy  of  the  great  Lord 
come  upon  me. 
Wonderful  is  that  Land  of  rest  to  which  no  merit  can 

win. 
There  have  I  seen  joy  filled  to  the  brim,  perfection  of 

joy- 
He  dances  in  rapture  and  waves  of  form  arise  from  His 

dance. 
He  holds  all  within  his  bliss." 

"What  is  that?'1' 

"It  is  from  the  songs  of  the  great  Indian  mystic — 
Kabir.  Let  me  read  you  more.  It  is  like  the  sing 
ing  of  a  lark,  lost  in  the  infinite  of  light  and  heaven." 

So  in  the  soft  darkness  I  heard  for  the  first  time 
those  immortal  words;  and  hearing,  a  faint  glimmer 
of  understanding  broke  upon  me  as  to  the  source  of 
the  peace  that  surrounded  her.  I  had  accepted  it  as 
an  emanation  of  her  own  heart  when  it  was  the  pulsing 
of  the  tide  of  the  Divine.  She  read,  choosing  a  verse 
here  and  there,  and  I  listened  with  absorption. 

Suppose  I  had  been  wrong  in  believing  that  sorrow 


THE  INTERPRETER  121 

is  the  keynote  of  life ;  that  pain  is  the  road  of  ascent, 
if  road  there  be;  that  an  implacable  Nature  and  that 
only,  presides  over  all  our  pitiful  struggles  and 
seekings  and  writes  a  black  "Finis"  to  the  holograph 
of  our  existence? 

What  then?  What  was  she  teaching  me?  Was 
she  the  Interpreter  of  a  Beauty  eternal  in  the  heavens, 
and  reflected  like  a  broken  prism  in  the  beauty  that 
walked  visible  beside  me?  So  I  listened  like  a  child 
to  an  unknown  language,  yet  ventured  my  protest. 

"In  India,  in  this  wonderful  country  where  men 
have  time  and  will  for  speculation  such  thoughts  may 
be  natural.  Can  they  be  found  in  the  West?" 

"This  is  from  the  West — might  not  Kabir  himself 
have  said  it?  Certainly  he  would  have  felt  it. 
'Happy  is  he  who  seeks  not  to  understand  the  Mystery 
of  God,  but  who,  merging  his  spirit  into  Thine,  sings 
to  Thy  face,  0  Lord,  like  a  harp,  understanding  how 
difficult  it  is  to  know — how  easy  to  love  Thee.'  We 
debate  and  argue  and  the  Vision  passes  us  by.  We 
try  to  prove  it,  and  kill  it  in  the  laboratory  of  our 
minds,  when  on  the  altar  of  our  souls  it  will  dwell  for 
ever." 

Silence — and  I  pondered.  Finally  she  laid  the 
book  aside,  and  repeated  from  memory  and  in  a  tone 
of  perfect  music;  "Kabir  says,  'I  shall  go  to  the 
House  of  my  Lord  with  my  Love  at  my  side;  then 
shall  I  sound  the  trumpet  of  triumph.' ' 


122  THE  INTERPRETER 

And  when  she  left  me  alone  in  the  moonlight  silence 
the  old  doubts  came  back  to  me — the  fear  that  I  saw 
only  through  her  eyes,  and  began  to  believe  in  joy  only 
because  I  loved  her.  I  remember  I  wrote  in  the  little 
book  I  kept  for  my  stray  thoughts,  these  words  which 
are  not  mine  but  reflect  my  thought  of  her;  "Thine  is 
the  skill  of  the  Fairy  Woman,  and  the  virtue  of  St. 
Bride,  and  the  faith  of  Mary  the  Mild,  and  the 
gracious  way  of  the  Greek  woman,  and  the  beauty  of 
lovely  Emer,  and  the  tenderness  of  heart-sweet 
Deirdre,  and  the  courage  of  Maev  the  great  Queen, 
and  the  charm  of  Mouth-of-Music.'1' 

Yes,  all  that  and  more,  but  I  feared  lest  I  should 
see  the  heaven  of  joy  through  her  eyes  only  and  find 
it  mirage  as  I  had  found  so  much  else. 

SECOND  PART 

Early  in  the  pure  dawn  the  men  came  and  our  boat 
was  towed  up  into  the  Dal  Lake  through  crystal  water 
ways  and  flowery  banks,  the  men  on  the  path  keeping 
step  and  straining  at  the  rope  until  the  bronze  muscles 
stood  out  on  their  legs  and  backs,  shouting  strong 
rhythmic  phrases  to  mark  the  pull. 

"They  shout  the  Wondrous  Names  of  God — as 
they  are  called,"  said  Vanna  when  I  asked.  "They 
always  do  that  for  a  timed  effort.  Badshah!  The 
Lord,  the  Compassionate,  and  so  on.  I  don't  think 


THE  INTERPRETER  123 

there  is  any  religion  about  it  but  it  is  as  natural  to 
them  as  One,  Two,  Three,  to  us.  It  gives  a  tre 
mendous  lift.  Watch  and  see." 

It  was  part  of  the  delightful  strangeness  that  we 
should  move  to  that  strong  music.  We  sat  on  the 
upper  deck  and  watched  the  dream-like  beauty  drift 
slowly  by  until  we  emerged  beneath  a  little  bridge  into 
the  fairy  land  of  the  lake  which  the  Mogul  Emperors 
loved  so  well  that  they  made  their  noble  pleasance 
gardens  on  the  banks,  and  thought  it  little  to  travel  up 
yearly  from  far-off  Delhi  over  the  snowy  Pir  Panjal 
with  their  Queens  and  courts  for  the  perfect  summer 
of  Kashmir. 

We  moored  by  a  low  bank  under  a  great  wood  of 
chenar  trees,  and  saw  the  little  table  in  the  wilderness 
set  in  the  greenest  shade  with  our  chairs  beside  it,  and 
my  pipe  laid  reverently  upon  it  by  Kahdra. 

Across  the  glittering  water  lay  on  one  side  the 
Shalimar  Garden  known  to  all  readers  of  "Lalla 
Ruhk" — a  paradise  of  roses ;  and  beyond  it  again  the 
lovelier  gardens  of  Nour-Mahal,  the  Light  of  the 
Palace,  that  imperial  woman  who  ruled  India  under 
the  weak  Emperor's  name — she  whose  name  he  set 
thus  upon  his  coins: 

"By  order  of  King  Jehangir.  Gold  has  a  hundred 
splendours  added  to  it  by  receiving  the  name  of  Nour-Jahan 
the  Queen." 

Has  any  woman  ever  had  a  more  royal  homage  than 


124  THE  INTERPRETER 

this  most  royal  lady — known  first  as  Mihr-u-nissa — 
Sun  of  Women,  and  later,  Nour-Mahal,  Light  of  the 
Palace,  and  latest,  Nour-Jahan-Begam,  Queen,  Light 
of  the  World? 

Here  in  these  gardens  she  had  lived — had  seen  the 
snow  mountains  change  from  the  silver  of  dawn  to  the 
illimitable  rose  of  sunset.  The  life,  the  colour  beat 
insistently  upon  my  brain.  They  built  a  world  of 
magic  where  every  moment  was  pure  gold.  Surely 
— surely  to  Vanna  it  must  be  the  same.  I  believed  in 
my  very  soul  that  she  who  gave  and  shared  such  joy 
could  not  be  utterly  apart  from  me?  Could  I  then 
feel  certain  that  I  had  gained  any  ground  in  these 
days  we  had  been  together?  Could  she  still  define 
the  cruel  limits  she  had  laid  down,  or  were  her  eyes 
kinder,  her  tones  a  more  broken  music?  I  did  not 
know.  Whenever  I  could  hazard  a  guess  the  next 
minute  baffled  me. 

Just  then,  in  the  sunset,  she  was  sitting  on  deck, 
singing  under  her  breath  and  looking  absently  away 
to  the  Gardens  across  the  Lake.  I  could  catch  the 
words  here  and  there,  and  knew  them. 

"Pale  hands  I  loved  beside  the  Shalimar, 
Where  are  you  now — who  lies  beneath  your  spell? 
Whom  do  you  lead  on  Rapture's  roadway  far, 
Before  you  agonize  them  in  farewell?" 

"Don't  !"  I  said  abruptly.     It  stung  me. 
"What?"  she  asked  in  surprise.     "That  is  the  song 


THE  INTERPRETER  125 

every  one  remembers  here.  Poor  Laurence  Hope! 
How  she  knew  and  loved  this  India!  What  are  you 
grumbling  at?" 

Her  smile  stung  me. 

"Never  mind,"  I  said  morosely.  "You  don't 
understand.  You  never  will." 

And  yet  I  believed  sometimes  that  she  would — 
that  time  was  on  my  side. 

When  Kahdra  and  I  pulled  her  across  to  Nour- 
Mahal's  garden  next  day,  how  could  I  not  believe  it — 
her  face  was  so  full  of  joy  as  she  looked  at  me  for 
sympathy? 

"I  don't  think  so  much  beauty  is  crowded  into  any 
other  few  miles  in  the  world — beauty  of  association, 
history,  nature,  everything!"  she  said  with  shining 
eyes.  "The  lotus  flowers  are  not  out  yet  but  when 
they  come  that  is  the  last  touch  of  perfection.  Do 
you  remember  Homer — 'But  whoso  ate  of  the 
honey-sweet  fruit  of  the  lotus,  was  neither  willing  to 
bring  me  word  again,  nor  to  depart.  Nay,  their 
desire  was  to  remain  there  for  ever,  feeding  on  the 
lotus  with  the  Lotus  Eaters,  forgetful  of  all  return.' 
You  know  the  people  here  eat  the  roots  and  seeds? 
I  ate  them  last  year  and  perhaps  that  is  why  I  cannot 
stay  away.  But  look  at  Nour-Mahal's  garden!" 

We  were  pulling  in  among  the  reeds  and  the  huge 
carven  leaves  of  the  water  plants,  and  the  snake- 
headed  buds  lolling  upon  them  with  the  slippery 


126  THE  INTERPRETER 

half -sinister  look  that  water-flowers  have,  as  though 
their  cold  secret  life  belonged  to  the  hidden  water 
world  and  not  to  ours.  But  now  the  boat  was  touch 
ing  the  little  wooden  steps. 

0  beautiful — most  beautiful  the  green  lawns, 
shaded  with  huge  pyramids  of  the  chenar  trees,  the 
terraced  gardens  where  the  marble  steps  climbed 
from  one  to  the  other,  and  the  mountain  streams 
flashed  singing  and  shining  down  the  carved  marble 
slopes  that  cunning  hands  had  made  to  delight  the 
Empress  of  Beauty,  between  the  wildernesses  of  roses. 
Her  pavilion  stands  still  among  the  flowers,  and  the 
waters  ripple  through  it  to  join  the  lake — and  she  is 
— where?  Even  in  the  glory  of  sunshine  the  passing 
of  all  fair  things  was  present  with  me  as  I  saw  the 
empty  shell  that  had  held  the  Pearl  of  Empire,  and 
her  roses  that  still  bloom,  her  waters  that  still  sing 
for  others. 

The  spray  of  a  hundred  fountains  was  misty  dia 
mond  dust  in  the  warm  air  laden  with  the  scent  of 
myriad  flowers.  Kahdra  followed  us  everywhere, 
singing  his  little  tuneless  happy  song.  The  world 
brimmed  with  beauty  and  joy.  And  we  were  to 
gether.  Words  broke  from  me. 

"Vanna,  let  it  be  for  ever!  Let  us  live  here.  I'll 
give  up  all  the  world  for  this  and  you." 

"But  you  see,"  she  said  delicately,  "it  would  be 
'giving  up.'  You  use  the  right  word.  It  is  not  your 


THE  INTERPRETER  127 

life.  It  is  a  lovely  holiday,  no  more.  You  would 
weary  of  it.  You  would  want  the  city  life  and  your 
own  kind." 

I  protested  with  all  my  souL 

"No.  Indeed  I  will  say  frankly  that  it  would  be 
lowering  yourself  to  live  a  lotus-eating  life  among 
my  people.  It  is  a  life  with  which  you  have  no  tie. 
A  Westerner  who  lives  like  that  steps  down;  he  loses 
his  birthright  just  as  an  Oriental  does  who  European- 
ises  himself.  He  cannot  live  your  life  nor  you  his. 
If  you  had  work  here  it  would  be  different.  No — 
six  or  eight  weeks  more ;  then  go  away  and  forget  it.'1' 

I  turned  from  her.  The  serpent  was  in  Paradise. 
When  is  he  absent? 

On  one  of  the  terraces  a  man  was  beating  a  tom 
tom,  and  veiled  women  listened,  grouped  about  him 
in  brilliant  colours. 

"Isn't  that  all  India?"  she  said;  "that  dull  reiter 
ated  sound?  It  half  stupefies,  half  maddens.  Once 
at  Darjiling  I  saw  the  Lamas'  Devil  Dance — 
the  soul,  a  white-faced  child  with  eyes  unnaturally 
enlarged,  fleeing  among  a  rabble  of  devils — the  evil 
passions.  It  fled  wildly  here  and  there  and  every 
way  was  blocked.  The  child  fell  on  its  knees, 
screaming  dumbly — you  could  see  the  despair  in 
the  staring  eyes,  but  all  was  drowned  in  the  thunder 
of  Tibetan  drums.  No  mercy — no  escape.  Hor 
rible!" 


128  THE  INTERPRETER 

"Even  in  Europe  the  drum  is  awful,"  I  said.  "Do 
you  remember  in  the  French  Revolution  how  they 
drowned  the  victims'  voices  in  a  thunder  roll  of 
drums?" 

"I  shall  always  see  the  face  of  the  child,  hunted 

down  to  hell,   falling  on  its  knees,   and  screaming 

without  a  sound,  when  I  hear  the  drum.     But  listen 

—a  flute!     Now  if  that  were  the  Flute  of  Krishna 

you  would  have  to  follow.     Let  us  come!" 

I  could  hear  nothing  of  it,  but  she  insisted  and  we 
followed  the  music,  inaudible  to  me,  up  the  slopes 
of  the  garden  that  is  the  foot-hill  of  the  mighty  moun 
tain  of  Mahadeo,  and  still  I  could  hear  nothing. 
And  Vanna  told  me  strange  stories  of  the  Apollo  of 
India  whom  all  hearts  must  adore,  even  as  the  herd- 
girls  adored  him  in  his  golden  youth  by  Jumna  river 
and  in  the  pastures  of  Brindaban. 

Next  day  we  were  climbing  the  hill  to  the  ruins 
where  the  evil  magician  brought  the  King's  daughter 
nightly  to  his  will,  flying  low  under  a  golden  moon. 
Vanna  took  my  arm  and  I  pulled  her  laughing  up 
the  steepest  flowery  slopes  until  we  reached  the 
height,  and  lo!  the  arched  windows  were  eyeless  and 
a  lonely  breeze  blowing  through  the  cloisters,  and  the 
beautiful  yellowish  stone  arches  supported  nothing 
and  were  but  frames  for  the  blue  of  far  lake  and 
mountain  and  the  divine  sky.  We  climbed  the 
broken  stairs  where  the  lizards  went  by  like  flashes, 


THE  INTERPRETER  129 

and  had  I  the  tongue  of  men  and  angels  I  could  not 
tell  the  wonder  that  lay  before  us, — the  whole  wide 
valley  of  Kashmir  in  summer  glory,  with  its  scented 
breeze  singing,  singing  above  it. 

We  sat  on  the  crushed  aromatic  herbs  and  among 
the  wild  roses  and  looked  down. 

"To  think,"  she  said,  "that  we  might  have  died 
and  never  seen  it!" 

There  followed  a  long  silence.  I  thought  she 
was  tired,  and  would  not  break  it.  Suddenly  she 
spoke  in  a  strange  voice,  low  and  toneless; 

"The  story  of  this  place.  She  was  the  Princess 
Padmavati,  and  her  home  was  in  Ayodhya.  When 
she  woke  and  found  herself  here  by  the  lake  she  was 
so  terrified  that  she  flung  herself  in  and  was  drowned. 
They  held  her  back,  but  she  died." 

"How  do  you  know?" 

"Because  a  wandering  monk  came  to  the  abbey  of 
Tahkt-i-Bahi  near  Peshawar  and  told  Vasettha  the 
Abbot." 

I  had  nearly  spoilt  all  by  an  exclamation,  but  I 
held  myself  back.  I  saw  she  was  dreaming  awake 
and  was  unconscious  of  what  she  said. 

"The  Abbot  said,  'Do  not  describe  her.  What 
talk  is  this  for  holy  men?  The  young  monks  must 
not  hear.  Some  of  them  have  never  seen  a  woman. 
Should  a  monk  speak  of  such  toys?'  But  the  wan 
derer  disobeyed  and  spoke,  and  there  was  a  great 


130  THE  INTERPRETER 

tumult,  and  the  monks  threw  him  out  at  the  command 
of  the  young  Abbot,  and  he  wandered  down  to 
Peshawar,  and  it  was  he  later — the  evil  one! — that 
brought  his  sister,  Lilavanti  the  Dancer,  to  Peshawar, 
and  the  Abbott  fell  into  her  snare.  That  was  his 
revenge!" 

Her  face  was  fixed  and  strange,  for  a  moment  her 
cheek  looked  hollow,  her  eyes  dim  and  grief-worn. 
What  was  she  seeing? — what  remembering?  Was 
it  a  story — a  memory?  What  was  it? 

"She  was  beautiful?'"  I  prompted. 

"Men  have  said  so,  but  for  it  he  surrendered  the 
Peace.  Do  not  speak  of  her  accursed  beauty." 

Her  voice  died  away  to  a  drowsy  murmur;  her 
head  dropped  on  my  shoulder  and  for  the  mere  de 
light  of  contact  I  sat  still  and  scarcely  breathed, 
praying  that  she  might  speak  again,  but  the  good 
minute  was  gone.  She  drew  one  or  two  deep  breaths, 
and  sat  up  with  a  bewildered  look  that  quickly 
passed. 

"I  was  quite  sleepy  for  a  minute.  The  climb  was 
so  strenuous.  Hark — I  hear  the  Flute  of  Krishna 
again." 

And  again  I  could  hear  nothing,  but  she  said  it  was 
sounding  from  the  trees  at  the  base  of  the  hill.  Later 
when  we  climbed  down  I  found  she  was  right — that 
a  peasant  lad,  dark  and  amazingly  beautiful  as  these 
Kashmiris  often  are,  was  playing  on  the  flute  to  a 


THE  INTERPRETER  131 

girl  at  his  feet — looking  up  at  him  with  rapt  eyes. 
He  flung  Vanna  a  flower  as  we  passed.  She  caught 
it  and  put  it  in  her  bosom.  A  singular  blossom, 
three  petals  of  purest  white,  set  against  three  leaves 
of  purest  green,  and  lower  down  the  stem  the  three 
green  leaves  were  repeated.  It  was  still  in  her 
bosom  after  dinner,  and  I  looked  at  it  more  closely. 

"That  is  a  curious  flower,"  I  said.  "Three  and 
three  and  three.  Nine.  That  makes  the  mys 
tic  number.  I  never  saw  a  purer  white.  What  is 
it?" 

"Of  course  it  is  mystic,"  she  said  seriously.  "It 
is  the  Ninefold  Flower.  You  saw  who  gave  it?" 

"That  peasant  lad." 

She  smiled. 

"You  will  see  more  some  day.  Some  might  not 
even  have  seen  that." 

"Does  it  grow  here?" 

"This  is  the  first  I  have  seen.  It  is  said  to  grow 
only  where  the  gods  walk.  Do  you  know  that 
throughout  all  India  Kashmir  is  said  to  be  holy 
ground?  It  was  called  long  ago  the  land  of  the 
gods,  and  of  strange,  but  not  evil,  sorceries.  Great 
marvels  were  seen  here." 

I  felt  the  labyrinthine  enchantments  of  that  en 
chanted  land  were  closing  about  me — a  slender  web, 
grey,  almost  impalpable,  finer  than  fairy  silk,  was 
winding  itself  about  my  feet.  My  eyes  were  open- 


132  THE  INTERPRETER 

ing   to   things   I    had   not    dreamed.     She    saw    my 
thought. 

"Yes,  you  could  not  have  seen  even  that  much  of 
him  in  Peshawar.  You  did  not  know  then." 

"He  was  not  there,"  I  answered,  falling  half  un 
consciously  into  her  tone. 

"He  is  always  there — everywhere,  and  when  he 
plays,  all  who  hear  must  follow.  He  was  the  Pied 
Piper  in  Hamelin,  he  was  Pan  in  Hellas.  You  will 
hear  his  wild  fluting  in  many  strange  places  when  you 
know  how  to  listen.  When  one  has  seen  him  the  rest 
comes  soon.  And  then  you  will  follow." 

"Not  away  from  you,  Vanna." 

"From  the  marriage  feast,  from  the  Table  of  the 
Lord,"  she  said,  smiling  strangely.  "The  man  who 
wrote  that  spoke  of  another  call,  but  it  is  the  same — 
Krishna  or  Christ.  When  we  hear  the  music  we 
follow.  And  we  may  lose  or  gain  heaven.1" 

It  might  have  been  her  compelling  personality- 
it  might  have  been  the  marvels  of  beauty  about  me, 
but  I  knew  well  I  had  entered  at  some  mystic  gate. 
A  pass  word  had  been  spoken  for  me — I  was  vouched 
for  and  might  go  in.  Only  a  little  way  as  yet. 
Enchanted  forests  lay  beyond,  and  perilous  seas,  but 
there  were  hints,  breaths  like  the  wafting  of  the 
garments  of  unspeakable  Presences.  My  talk  with 
Vanna  grew  less  personal,  and  more  introspective.  I 
felt  the  touch  of  her  finger-tips  leading  me  along 


THE  INTERPRETER  133 

the  ways  of  Quiet — my  feet  brushed  a  shining  dew. 

Once,  in  the  twilight  under  the  chenar  trees,  I  saw 
a  white  gleaming  and  thought  it  a  swiftly  passing 
Being,  but  when  in  haste  I  gained  the  tree  I  found 
there  only  a  Ninefold  flower,  white  as  a  spirit  in  the 
evening  calm.  I  would  not  gather  it  but  told  Vanna 
what  I  had  seen. 

"You  nearly  saw,"  she  said.  "She  passed  so 
quickly.  It  was  the  Snowy  One,  Uma,  Parvati,  the 
Daughter  of  the  Himalaya.  That  mountain  is  the 
mountain  of  her  lord — Shiva.  It  is  natural  she 
should  be  here.  I  saw  her  last  night  lean  over  the 
height — her  face  pillowed  on  her  folded  arms,  with 
a  low  star  in  the  mists  of  her  hair.  Her  eyes  were 
like  lakes  of  blue  darkness.  Vast  and  wonderful. 
She  is  the  Mystic  Mother  of  India.  You  will  see 
soon.  You  could  not  have  seen  the  flower  until  now." 

"Do  you  know,"  she  added,  "that  in  the  mountains 
there  are  poppies  of  clear  blue — blue  as  turquoise. 
We  will  go  up  into  the  heights  and  find  them." 

And  next  moment  she  was  planning  the  camping 
details,  the  men,  the  ponies,  with  a  practical  zest  that 
seemed  to  relegate  the  occult  to  the  absurd.  Yet  the 
very  next  day  came  a  wonderful  moment. 

The  sun  was  just  setting  and,  as  it  were,  suddenly 
the  purple  glooms  banked  up  heavy  with  thunder. 
The  sky  was  black  with  fury,  the  earth  passive  with 
dread.  I  never  saw  such  lightning — it  was  con- 


134  THE  INTERPRETER 

tinuous  and  tore  in  zigzag  flashes  down  the  mountains 
like  rents  in  the  substance  of  the  world's  fabric. 
And  the  thunder  roared  up  in  the  mountain  gorges 
with  shattering  echoes.  Then  fell  the  rain,  and  the 
whole  lake  seemed  to  rise  to  meet  it,  and  the  noise  was 
like  the  rattle  of  musketry.  We  were  standing  by 
the  cabin  window  and  she  suddenly  caught  my  hand, 
and  I  saw  in  a  light  of  their  own  two  dancing  figures 
on  the  tormented  water  before  us.  Wild  in  the 
tumult,  embodied  delight,  with  arms  tossed  violently 
above  their  heads,  and  feet  flung  up  behind  them, 
skimming  the  waves  like  sea-gulls,  they  passed. 
Their  sex  I  could  not  tell — I  think  they  had  none,  but 
were  bubble  emanations  of  the  rejoicing  rush  of  the 
rain  and  the  wild  retreating  laughter  of  the  thunder. 
I  saw  the  fierce  aerial  faces  and  their  unhuman  glee 
as  they  fled  by,  and  she  dropped  my  hand  and  they 
were  gone.  Slowly  the  storm  lessened,  and  in  the  west 
the  clouds  tore  raggedly  asunder  and  a  flood  of  livid 
yellow  light  poured  down  upon  the  lake — an  awful 
light  that  struck  it  into  an  abyss  of  fire.  Then,  as  if 
at  a  word  of  command,  two  glorious  rainbows  sprang 
across  the  water  with  the  mountains  for  their  piers, 
each  with  its  proper  colours  chorded.  They  made  a 
Bridge  of  Dread  that  stood  out  radiant  against  the 
background  of  storm — the  Twilight  of  the  Gods,  and 
the  doomed  gods  marching  forth  to  the  last  fight. 
And  the  thunder  growled  sullenly  away  into  the  re- 


THE  INTERPRETER  135 

cesses  of  the  hill  and  the  terrible  rainbows  faded 
until  the  stars  came  quietly  out  and  it  was  a  still  night. 

But  I  had  seen  that  what  is  our  dread  is  the  joy  of 
the  spirits  of  the  Mighty  Mother,  and  though  the 
vision  faded  and  I  doubted  what  I  had  seen,  it  pre 
pared  the  way  for  what  I  was  yet  to  see. 

A  few  days  later  we  started  on  what  was  to  be  the 
most  exquisite  memory  of  my  life.  A  train  of  ponies 
carried  our  tents  and  camping  necessaries  and  there 
was  a  pony  for  each  of  us.  And  so,  in  the  cool  grey 
of  a  divine  morning,  with  little  rosy  clouds  flecking 
the  eastern  sky,  we  set  out  from  Islamabad  for  Vernag. 
And  this  was  the  order  of  our  going.  She  and  I  led 
the  way,  attended  by  a  sais  (groom)  and  a  coolie 
carrying  the  luncheon  basket.  Half  way  we  would 
stop  in  some  green  dell,  or  by  some  rushing  stream, 
and  there  rest  and  eat  our  little  meal  while  the  rest  of 
the  cavalcade  passed  on  to  the  appointed  camping 
place,  and  in  the  late  afternoon  we  would  follow, 
riding  slowly,  and  find  the  tents  pitched  and  the 
kitchen  department  in  full  swing.  If  the  place 
pleased  us  we  lingered  for  some  days; — if  not,  the 
camp  was  struck  next  morning,  and  again  we  wandered 
in  search  of  beauty. 

The  people  were  no  inconsiderable  part  of  my  joy. 
I  cannot  see  what  they  have  to  gain  from  such  civili 
zation  as  ours— a  kindly  people  and  happy. 
Courtesy  and  friendliness  met  us  everywhere,  and  if 


136  THE  INTERPRETER 

their  labour  was  hard,  their  harvest  of  beauty  and 
laughter  seemed  to  be  its  reward.  The  little  villages 
with  their  groves  of  walnut  and  fruit  trees  spoke  of 
no  unfulfilled  want,  the  mulberries  which  fatten  the 
sleek  bears  in  their  season  fattened  the  children  too. 
I  compared  their  lot  with  that  of  the  toilers  in  our 
cities  and  knew  which  I  would  choose.  We  rode  by 
shimmering  fields  of  barley,  with  red  poppies  floating 
in  the  clear  transparent  green  as  in  deep  sea  water, 
through  fields  of  millet  like  the  sky  fallen  on  the  earth, 
so  innocently  blue  were  its  blossoms,  and  the  trees 
above  us  were  trellised  with  the  wild  roses,  golden 
and  crimson,  and  the  ways  tapestried  with  the  scented 
stars  of  the  large  white  jasmin. 

It  was  strange  that  later  much  of  what  she  said, 
escaped  me.  Some  I  noted  down  at  the  time,  but 
there  were  hints,  shadows  of  lovelier  things  beyond 
that  eluded  all  but  the  fringes  of  memory  when  I  tried 
to  piece  them  together  and  make  a  coherence  of  a 
living  wonder.  For  that  reason,  the  best  things  can 
not  be  told  in  this  history.  It  is  only  the  cruder, 
grosser  matters  that  words  will  hold.  The  half- 
touchings — vanishing  looks,  breaths — 0  God,  I  know 
them,  but  cannot  tell. 

In  the  smaller  villages,  the  head  man  came  often  to 
greet  us  and  make  us  welcome,  bearing  on  a  flat  dish 
a  little  offering  of  cakes  and  fruit,  the  produce  of  the 
place.  One  evening  a  man  so  approached,  stately  in 


THE  INTERPRETER  137 

white  robes  and  turban,  attended  by  a  little  lad  who 
carried  the  patriarchal  gift  beside  him.  Our  tents 
were  pitched  under  a  glorious  walnut  tree  with  a  run 
ning  stream  at  our  feet. 

Vanna  of  course,  was  the  interpreter,  and  I  called 
her  from  her  tent  as  the  man  stood  salaaming  before 
me.  It  was  strange  that  when  she  came,  dressed  in 
white,  he  stopped  in  his  salutation,  and  gazed  at  her 
in  what,  I  thought,  was  silent  wonder. 

She  spoke  earnestly  to  him,  standing  before  him 
with  clasped  hands,  almost,  I  could  think,  in  the 
attitude  of  a  suppliant.  The  man  listened  gravely, 
with  only  an  interjection,  now  and  again,  and  once 
he  turned  and  looked  curiously  at  me.  Then  he 
spoke,  evidently  making  some  announcement  which 
she  received  with  bowed  head — and  when  he  turned 
to  go  with  a  grave  salute,  she  performed  a  very 
singular  ceremony,  moving  slowly  round  him  three 
times  with  clasped  hands ;  keeping  him  always  on  the 
right.  He  repaid  it  with  the  usual  salaam  and 
greeting  of  peace,  which  he  bestowed  also  on  me,  and 
then  departed  in  deep  meditation,  his  eyes  fixed  on 
the  ground.  I  ventured  to  ask  what  it  all  meant, 
and  she  looked  thoughtfully  at  me  before  replying. 

"It  was  a  strange  thing.  I  fear  you  will  not 
altogether  understand,  but  I  will  tell  you  what  I  can. 
That  man  though  living  here  among  Mahomedans, 
is  a  Brahman  from  Benares,  and,  what  is  very  rare 


138  THE  INTERPRETER 

in  India,  a  Buddhist.  And  when  he  saw  me  he 
believed  he  remembered  me  in  a  former  birth.  The 
ceremony  you  saw  me  perform  is  one  of  honour  in 
India.  It  was  his  due." 

"Did  you  remember  him?"  I  knew  my  voice  was 
incredulous. 

"Very  well.  He  has  changed  little  but  is  further 
on  the  upward  path.  I  saw  him  with  dread  for  he 
holds  the  memory  of  a  great  wrong  I  did.  Yet  he 
told  me  a  thing  that  has  filled  my  heart  with  joy." 

"Vanna — what  is  it?" 

She  had  a  clear  uplifted  look  which  startled  me. 
There  was  suddenly  a  chill  air  blowing  between 
us. 

"I  must  not  tell  you  yet  but  you  will  know  soon. 
He  was  a  good  man.  I  am  glad  we  have  met." 

She  buried  herself  in  writing  in  a  small  book  I 
had  noticed  and  longed  to  look  into,  and  no  more  was 
said. 

We  struck  camp  next  day  and  trekked  on  towards 
Vernag — a  rough  march,  but  one  of  great  beauty, 
beneath  the  shade  of  forest  trees,  garlanded  with  pale 
roses  that  climbed  from  bough  to  bough  and  tossed 
triumphant  wreaths  into  the  uppermost  blue. 

In  the  afternoon  thunder  was  flapping  its  wings  far 
off  in  the  mountains  and  a  little  rain  fell  while  we 
were  lunching  under  a  big  tree.  I  was  considering 
anxiously  how  to  shelter  Vanna,  when  a  farmer 


THE  INTERPRETER  139 

invited  us  to  his  house — a  scene  of  Biblical  hospi 
tality  that  delighted  us  both.  He  led  us  up  some 
break-neck  little  stairs  to  a  large  bare  room,  open  to 
the  clean  air  all  round  the  roof,  and  with  a  kind  of 
rough  enclosure  on  the  wooden  floor  where  the  family 
slept  at  night.  There  he  opened  our  basket,  and 
then,  with  anxious  care,  hung  clothes  and  rough 
draperies  about  us  that  our  meal  might  be  unwatched 
by  one  or  two  friends  who  had  followed  us  in  with 
breathless  interest.  Still  further  to  entertain  us  a 
great  rarity  was  brought  out  and  laid  at  Vanna's  feet 
as  something  we  might  like  to  watch — a  curious  bird 
in  a  cage,  with  brightly  barred  wings  and  a  singular 
cry.  She  fed  it  with  fruit,  and  it  fluttered  to  her 
hand.  Just  so  Abraham  might  have  welcomed  his 
guests,  and  when  we  left  with  words  of  deepest 
gratitude,  our  host  made  the  beautiful  obeisance  of 
touching  his  forehead  with  joined  hands  as  he  bowed. 
To  me  the  whole  incident  had  an  extraordinary  grace, 
and  ennobled  both  host  and  guest.  But  we  met  an 
ascending  scale  of  loveliness  so  varied  in  its  aspects 
that  I  passed  from  one  emotion  to  another  and  knew 
no  sameness. 

That  afternoon  the  camp  was  pitched  at  the  foot  of 
a  mighty  hill,  under  the  waving  pyramids  of  the 
chenars,  sweeping  their  green  like  the  robes  of  a  god 
dess.  Near  by  was  a  half  circle  of  low  arches  falling 
into  ruin,  and  as  we  went  in  among  them  I  beheld  a 


140  THE  INTERPRETER 

wondrous  sight — the  huge  octagonal  tank  or  basin 
made  by  the  Mogul  Emperor  Jehangir  to  receive  the 
waters  of  a  mighty  spring  which  wells  from  the  hill 
and  has  been  held  sacred  by  Hindu  and  Moslem. 
And  if  loveliness  can  sanctify  surely  it  is  sacred 
indeed. 

The  tank  was  more  than  a  hundred  feet  in  diameter 
and  circled  by  a  roughly  paved  pathway  where  the 
little  arched  cells  open  that  the  devotees  may  sit  and 
contemplate  the  lustral  waters.  There  on  a  black 
stone,  is  sculptured  the  Imperial  inscription  com 
paring  this  spring  to  the  holier  wells  of  Paradise, 
and  I  thought  no  less  of  it,  for  it  rushes  straight  from 
the  rock  with  no  aiding  stream,  and  its  waters  are 
fifty  feet  deep,  and  sweep  away  from  this  great  basin 
through  beautiful  low  arches  in  a  wild  foaming  river 
—the  crystal  life-blood  of  the  mountain  for  ever 
welling  away.  The  colour  and  perfect  purity  of  this 
living  jewel  were  most  marvellous — clear  blue-green 
like  a  chalcedony,  but  changing  as  the  lights  in  an 
opal — a  wonderful  quivering  brilliance,  flickering 
with  the  silver  of  shoals  of  sacred  fish. 

But  the  Mogul  Empire  is  with  the  snows  of  yester 
year  and  the  wonder  has  passed  from  the  Moslems 
into  the  keeping  of  the  Hindus  once  more,  and  the 
Lingam  of  Shiva,  crowned  with  flowers,  is  the  symbol 
in  the  little  shrine  by  the  entrance.  Surely  in  India, 
the  gods  are  one  and  have  no  jealousies  among  them 


THE  INTERPRETER  141 

— so  swiftly  do  their  glories  merge  the  one  into  the 
other. 

"How  all  the  Mogul  Emperors  loved  running 
water,"  said  Vanna.  "I  can  see  them  leaning  over  it 
in  their  carved  pavilions  with  delicate  dark  faces  and 
pensive  eyes  beneath  their  turbans,  lost  in  the  end 
less  reverie  of  the  East  while  liquid  melody  passes 
into  their  dream.  It  was  the  music  they  best 
loved." 

She  Was  leading  me  into  the  royal  garden  below, 
where  the  young  river  flows  beneath  the  pavilion  set 
above  and  across  the  rush  of  the  water. 

"I  remember  before  I  came  to  India,"  she  went  on, 
"there  were  certain  words  and  phrases  that  meant  the 
whole  East  to  me.  It  was  an  enchantment.  The 
first  flash  picture  I  had  was  Milton's — 

"Dark  faces  with  white  silken  turbans  wreathed." 

and  it  still  is.  I  have  thought  ever  since  that  every 
man  should  wear  a  turban.  It  dignifies  the  un- 
comeliest  and  it  is  quite  curious  to  see  how  many 
inches  a  man  descends  in  the  scale  of  beauty  the 
moment  he  takes  it  off  and  you  see  only  the  skull-cap 
about  which  they  wind  it.  They  wind  it  with 
wonderful  skill  too.  I  have  seen  a  man  take 
eighteen  yards  of  muslin  and  throw  it  round  his  head 
with  a  few  turns,  and  in  five  or  six  minutes  the 
beautiful  folds  were  all  in  order  and  he  looked  like 
a  king.  Some  of  the  Gujars  here  wear  black  ones 


142  THE  INTERPRETER 

and  they  are  very  effective  and  worth  painting — the 
black  folds  and  the  sullen  tempestuous  black  brows 
underneath." 

We  sat  in  the  pavilion  for  awhile  looking  down  on 
the  rushing  water,  and  she  spoke  of  Akbar,  the 
greatest  of  the  Moguls,  and  spoke  with  a  curious 
personal  touch,  as  I  thought. 

"I  wish  you  would  try  to  write  a  story  of  him — 
one  on  more  human  lines  than  has  been  done  yet. 
No  one  has  accounted  for  the  passionate  quest  of 
truth  that  was  the  real  secret  of  his  life.  Strange  in 
an  Oriental  despot  if  you  think  of  it!  It  really  can 
only  be  understood  from  the  Buddhist  belief,  which 
curiously  seems  to  have  been  the  only  one  he 
neglected,  that  a  mysterious  Karma  influenced  all  his 
thoughts.  If  I  tell  you  as  a  key-note  for  your  story, 
that  in  a  past  life  he  had  been  a  Buddhist  priest — 
one  who  had  fallen  away,  would  that  in  any  way 
account  to  you  for  attempts  to  recover  the  lost  way? 
Try  to  think  that  out,  and  to  write  the  story,  not  as 
a  western  mind  sees  it,  but  pure  East." 

"That  would  be  a  great  book  to  write  if  one  could 
catch  the  voices  of  the  past.  But  how  to  do  it?" 

"I  will  give  you  one  day  a  little  book  that  may 
help  you.  The  other  story  I  wish  you  would  write  is 
the  story  of  a  Dancer  of  Peshawar.  There  is  a  con 
nection  between  the  two — a  story  of  ruin  and 
repentance." 


THE  INTERPRETER  143 

"Will  you  tell  it  to  me?" 

"A  part.  In  this  same  book  you  will  find  much 
more,  but  not  all.  All  cannot  be  told.  You  must 
imagine  much.  But  I  think  your  imagination  will 
be  true." 

"Why  do  you  think  so?" 

"Because  in  these  few  days  you  have  learnt  so 
much.  You  have  seen  the  Ninefold  Flower,  and  the 
rain  spirits.  You  will  soon  hear  the  Flute  of 
Krishna  which  none  can  hear  who  cannot  dream 
true." 

That  night  I  heard  it.  I  waked,  suddenly,  to 
music,  and  standing  in  the  door  of  my  tent,  in  the 
dead  silence  of  the  night,  lit  only  by  a  few  low  stars, 
I  heard  the  poignant  notes  of  a  flute.  If  it  had  called 
my  name  it  could  not  have  summoned  me  more  clearly, 
and  I  followed  without  a  thought  of  delay,  forgetting 
even  Vanna  in  the  strange  urgency  that  filled  me. 
The  music  was  elusive,  seeming  to  come  first  from 
one  side,  then  from  the  other,  but  finally  I  tracked  it 
as  a  bee  does  a  flower  by  the  scent,  to  the  gate  of  the 
royal  garden — the  pleasure  place  of  the  dead 
Emperors. 

The  gate  stood  ajar — strange!  for  I  had  seen  the 
custodian  close  it  that  evening.  Now  it  stood  wide 
and  I  went  in,  walking  noiselessly  over  the  dewy 
grass.  I  knew  and  could  not  tell  how,  that  I  must  be 
noiseless.  Passing  as  if  I  were  guided,  down  the 


144  THE  INTERPRETER 

course  of  the  strong  young  river,  I  came  to  the 
pavilion  that  spanned  it — the  place  where  we  had 
stood  that  afternoon — and  there  to  my  profound 
amazement,  I  saw  Vanna,  leaning  against  a  slight 
wooden  pillar.  As  if  she  had  expected  me,  she  laid 
one  finger  on  her  lip,  and  stretching  out  her  hand, 
took  mine  and  drew  me  beside  her  as  a  mother  might 
a  child.  And  instantly  I  saw! 

On  the  further  bank  a  young  man  in  a  strange 
diadem  or  mitre  of  jewels,  bare-breasted  and  beauti 
ful,  stood  among  the  flowering  oleanders,  one  foot 
lightly  crossed  over  the  other  as  he  stood.  He  was 
like  an  image  of  pale  radiant  gold,  and  I  could  have 
sworn  that  the  light  came  from  within  rather  than  fell 
upon  him,  for  the  night  was  very  dark.  He  held  the 
flute  to  his  lips,  and  as  I  looked,  I  became  aware  that 
the  noise  of  the  rushing  water  was  tapering  off  into  a 
murmur  scarcely  louder  than  that  of  a  summer  bee  in 
the  heart  of  a  rose.  Therefore  the  music  rose  like  a 
fountain  of  crystal  drops,  cold,  clear,  and  of  an 
entrancing  sweetness,  and  the  face  above  it  was  such 
that  I  had  no  power  to  turn  my  eyes  away.  How 
shall  I  say  what  it  was?  All  I  had  ever  desired, 
dreamed,  hoped,  prayed,  looked  at  me  from  the 
remote  beauty  of  the  eyes  and  with  the  most  per 
suasive  gentleness  entreated  me,  rather  than  com 
manded  to  follow  fearlessly  and  win.  But  these  arc 
words,  and  words  shaped  in  the  rough  mould  of 


THE  INTERPRETER  145 

thought  cannot  convey  the  deep  desire  that  would 
have  hurled  me  to  his  feet  if  Vanna  had  not  held  me 
with  a  firm  restraining  hand.  Looking  up  in  adoring 
love  to  the  dark  face  was  a  ring  of  woodland  creatures. 
I  thought  I  could  distinguish  the  white  clouded  robe 
of  a  snow-leopard,  the  soft  clumsiness  of  a  young 
bear,  and  many  more,  but  these  shifted  and  blurred 
like  dream  creatures — I  could  not  be  sure  of  them  nor 
define  their  numbers.  The  eyes  of  the  Player  looked 
down  upon  their  passionate  delight  with  careless  kind 
ness. 

Dim  images  passed  through  my  mind.  Orpheus 
— No,  this  was  no  Greek.  Pan — yet  again,  No. 
Where  were  the  pipes,  the  goat  hoofs?  The  young 
Dionysos — No,  there  were  strange  jewels  instead  of 
his  vines.  And  then  Vanna's  voice  said  as  if  from  a 
great  distance; 

"Krishna — the  Beloved.'1'  And  I  said  aloud,  "I 
see!"  And  even  as  I  said  it  the  whole  picture  blurred 
together  like  a  dream,  and  I  was  alone  in  the  pavilion 
and  the  water  was  foaming  past  me. 

Had  I  walked  in  my  sleep,  I  thought,  as  I  made  my 
way  back?  As  I  gained  the  garden  gate,  before  me, 
like  a  snowflake,  I  saw  the  Ninefold  Flower. 

When  I  told  her  next  day,  speaking  of  it  as  a 
dream,  she  said  simply;  "They  have  opened  the  door 
to  you.  You  will  not  need  me  soon." 

"I  shall  always  need  you.     You  have  taught  me 


146  THE  INTERPRETER 

everything.  I  could  see  nothing  last  night  until  you 
took  my  hand." 

"I  was  not  there,"  she  said  smiling.  "It  was  only 
the  thought  of  me,  and  you  can  have  that  when  I  am 
very  far  away.  I  was  sleeping  in  my  tent.  What 
you  called  in  me  then  you  can  always  call,  even  if  I 
am — dead." 

"That  is  a  word  which  is  beginning  to  have  no 
meaning  for  me.  You  have  said  things  to  me — no, 
thought  them,  that  have  made  me  doubt  if  there  is 
room  in  the  universe  for  the  thing  we  have  called 
death." 

She  smiled  her  sweet  wise  smile. 

"Where  we  are  death  is  not.  Where  death  is 
we  are  not.  But  you  will  understand  better 


soon." 


Our  march  curving  took  us  by  the  Mogul  gardens 
of  Achibal,  and  the  glorious  ruins  of  the  great  Temple 
at  Martund,  and  so  down  to  Bawan  with  its  crystal 
waters  and  that  loveliest  camping  ground  beside  them. 
A  mighty  grove  of  chenar  trees,  so  huge  that  I  felt  as 
if  we  were  in  a  great  sea  cave  where  the  air  is  dyed 
with  the  deep  shadowy  green  of  the  inmost  ocean,  and 
the  murmuring  of  the  myriad  leaves  was  like  a  sea  at 
rest.  I  looked  up  into  the  noble  height  and  my 
memory  of  Westminster  dwindled,  for  this  led  on  and 
up  to  the1  infinite  blue,  and  at  night  the  stars  hung  like 
fruit  upon  the  branches.  The  water  ran  with  a  great 


THE  INTERPRETER  147 

joyous  rush  of  release  from  the  mountain  behind,  but 
was  first  received  in  a  broad  basin  full  of  sacred  fish 
and  reflecting  a  little  temple  of  Maheshwara  and  one 
of  Surya  the  Sun.  Here  in  this  basin  the  water  lay 
pure  and  still  as  an  ecstasy,  and  beside  it  was  musing 
the  young  Brahman  priest  who  served  the  temple. 
Since  I  had  joined  Vanna  I  had  begun  with  her  help  to 
study  a  little  Hindustani,  and  with  an  aptitude  for 
language  could  understand  here  and  there.  I  caught 
a  word  or  two  as  she  spoke  with  him  that  startled  me, 
when  the  high-bred  ascetic  face  turned  serenely  upon 
her,  and  he  addressed  her  as  "My  sister/'  adding  a 
sentence  beyond  my  learning,  but  which  she  willingly 
translated  later. — "May  He  who  sits  above  the 
Mysteries,  have  mercy  upon  thy  rebirth." 

She  said  afterwards; 

"How  beautiful  some  of  these  men  are.  It  seems 
a  different  type  of  beauty  from  ours,  nearer  to  nature 
and  the  old  gods.  Look  at  that  priest — the  tall  figure, 
the  clear  olive  skin,  the  dark  level  brows,  the  long 
lashes  that  make  a  soft  gloom  about  the  eyes — eyes 
that  have  the  fathomless  depth  of  a  deer's,  the  proud 
arch  of  the  lip.  I  think  there  is  no  country  where 
aristocracy  is  more  clearly  marked  than  in  India. 
The  Brahmans  are  the  aristocrats  of  the  world.  You 
see  it  is  a  religious  aristocracy  as  well.  It  has  every 
thing  that  can  foster  pride  and  exclusiveness.  They 
spring  from  the  Mouth  of  Deity.  They  are  His  word 


148  THE  INTERPRETER 

incarnate.  Not  many  kings  are  of  the  Brahman  caste, 
and  the  Brahmans  look  down  upon  them  from  sov 
ereign  heights.  I  have  known  men  who  would  not  eat 
with  their  own  rulers  who  would  have  drunk  the 
water  that  washed  the  Brahmans'  feet." 

She  took  me  that  day,  the  Brahman  with  us,  to  see 
a  cave  in  the  mountain.  We  climbed  up  the  face  of 
the  cliff  to  where  a  little  tree  grew  on  a  ledge,  and  the 
black  mouth  yawned.  We  went  in  and  often  it  was 
so  low  we  had  to  stoop,  leaving  the  sunlight  behind 
until  it  was  like  a  dim  eye  glimmering  in  the  velvet 
blackness.  The  air  was  dank  and  cold  and  presently 
obscene  with  the  smell  of  bats,  and  alive  with  their 
wings,  as  they  came  sweeping  about  us,  gibbering  and 
squeaking.  I  thought  of  the  rush  of  the  ghosts,  blown 
like  dead  leaves  in  the  Odyssey.  And  then  a  small 
rock  chamber  branched  off,  and  in  this,  lit  by  a  bit  of 
burning  wood,  we  saw  the  bones  of  a  holy  man  who 
lived  and  died  there  four  hundred  years  ago. 
Think  of  it!  He  lived  there  always,  with  the  slow 
dropping  of  water  from  the  dead  weight  of  the  moun 
tain  above  his  head,  drop  by  drop  tolling  the  minutes 
away:  the  little  groping  feet  through  the  cave 
that  would  bring  him  food  and  drink,  hurrying 
into  the  warmth  and  sunlight  again,  and  his  only 
companion  the  sacred  lingam  which  means  the 
Creative  Energy  that  sets  the  worlds  dancing  for  joy 
round  the  sun — that,  and  the  black  solitude  to  sit 


THE  INTERPRETER  149 

down  beside  him.  Surely  his  bones  can  hardly  be 
dryer  and  colder  now  than  they  were  then!  There 
must  be  strange  ecstasies  in  such  a  life — wild  visions 
in  the  dark,  or  it  could  never  be  endured. 

And  so,  in  marches  of  about  ten  miles  a  day,  we 
came  to  Pahlgam  on  the  banks  of  the  dancing  Lidar. 
There  was  now  only  three  weeks  left  of  the  time  she 
had  promised.  After  a  few  days  at  Pahlgam  the 
march  would  turn  and  bend  its  way  back  to  Srinagar, 
and  to — what?  I  could  not  believe  it  was  to 
separation — in  her  lovely  kindness  she  had  grown  so 
close  to  me  that,  even  for  the  sake  of  friendship,  I 
believed  our  paths  must  run  together  to  the  end,  and 
there  were  moments  when  I  could  still  half  convince 
myself  that  I  had  grown  as  necessary  to  her  as  she 
was  to  me.  No — not  as  necessary,  for  she  was  life 
and  soul  to  me,  but  a  part  of  her  daily  experience 
that  she  valued  and  would  not  easily  part  with. 

That  evening  we  were  sitting  outside  the  tents,  near 
the  camp  fire,  of  pine  logs  and  cones,  the  leaping 
flames  making  the  night  beautiful  with  gold  and 
leaping  sparks,  in  an  attempt  to  reach  the  mellow 
splendours  of  the  moon.  The  men,  in  various 
attitudes  of  rest,  were  lying  about,  and  one  had  been 
telling  a  story  which  had  just  ended  in  excitement  and 
loud  applause. 

"These  are  Mahomedans,"  said  Vanna,  "and  it 
is  only  a  story  of  love  and  fighting  like  the  Arabian 


150  THE  INTERPRETER 

Nights.  If  they  had  been  Hindus,  it  might  well  have 
been  of  Krishna  or  of  Rama  and  Sita.  Their  faith 
comes  from  an  earlier  time  and  they  still  see  visions. 
The  Moslem  is  a  hard  practical  faith  for  men — men 
of  the  world  too.  It  is  not  visionary  now,  though  it 
once  had  its  great  mystics." 

"I  wish  you  would  tell  me  what  you  think  of  the 
visions  or  apparitions  of  the  gods  that  are  seen  here. 
Is  it  all  illusion?  Tell  me  your  thought." 

"How  difficult  that  is  to  answer.  I  suppose  if  love 
and  faith  are  strong  enough  they  will  always  create 
the  vibrations  to  which  the  greater  vibrations  respond, 
and  so  make  God  in  their  own  image  at  any 
time  or  place.  But  that  they  call  up  what  is  the  truest 
reality  I  have  never  doubted.  There  is  no  shadow 
without  a  substance.  The  substance  is  beyond  us  but 
under  certain  conditions  the  shadow  is  projected  and 
we  see  it." 

"Have  I  seen  or  has  it  been  dream?'1' 

"I  cannot  tell.  It  may  have  been  the  impress  of 
my  mind  on  yours,  for  I  see  such  things  always.  You 
say  I  took  your  hand?" 

"Take  it  now." 

She  obeyed,  and  instantly,  as  I  felt  the  firm  cool 
clasp,  I  heard  the  rain  of  music  through  the  pines — 
the  Flute  Player  was  passing.  She  dropped  it  smiling 
and  the  sweet  sound  ceased. 

"You  see!     How  can  I  tell  what  you  have  seen? 


THE  INTERPRETER  151 

You  will  know  better  when  I  am  gone.     You  will 
stand  alone  then." 

"You  will  not  go — you  cannot.  I  have  seen  how 
you  have  loved  all  this  wonderful  time.  I  believe  it 
has  been  as  dear  to  you  as  to  me.  And  every  day  I 
have  loved  you  more.  I  depend  upon  you  for  every 
thing  that  makes  life  worth  living.  You  could  not — 
you  who  are  so  gentle — you  could  not  commit  the 
senseless  cruelty  of  leaving  me  when  you  have  taught 
me  to  love  you  with  every  beat  of  my  heart.  I  have 
been  patient — I  have  held  myself  in,  but  I  must  speak 
now.  Marry  me,  and  teach  me.  I  know  nothing. 
You  know  all  I  need  to  know.  For  pity's  sake  be 
my  wife." 

I  had  not  meant  to  say  it;  it  broke  from  me 
in  the  firelit  moonlight  with  a  power  that  I  could 
not  stay.  She  looked  at  me  with  a  disarming  gentle 
ness. 

"Is  this  fair?  Do  you  remember  how  at  Peshawar 
I  told  you  I  thought  it  was  a  dangerous  experiment, 
and  that  it  would  make  things  harder  for  you.  But 
you  took  the  risk  like  a  brave  man  because  you  felt 
there  were  things  to  be  gained — knowledge,  insight, 
beauty.  Have  you  not  gained  them?" 

"Yes.     Absolutely." 

"Then,  is  it  all  loss  if  I  go?" 

"Not  all.     But  loss  I  dare  not  face.1" 

"I  will  tell  you  this.     I  could  not  stay  if  I  would. 


152  THE  INTERPRETER 

Do  you  remember  the  old  man  on  the  way  to  Vernag? 
He  told  me  that  I  must  very  soon  take  up  an  entirely 
new  life.  I  have  no  choice,  though  if  I  had  I  would 
still  do  it." 

There  was  silence  and  down  a  long  arcade,  without 
any  touch  of  her  hand  I  heard  the  music,  receding  with 
exquisite  modulations  to  a  very  great  distance,  and 
between  the  pillared  stems,  I  saw  a  faint  light. 

"Do  you  wish  to  go?" 

"Entirely.  But  I  shall  not  forget  you,  Stephen.  I 
will  tell  you  something.  For  me,  since  I  came  to 
India,  the  gate  that  shuts  us  out  at  birth  has  opened. 
How  shall  I  explain?  Do  you  remember  Kipling's 
'Finest  Story  in  the  World'?" 

"Yes.     Fiction!" 

"Not  fiction — true,  whether  he  knew  it  or  no.  But 
for  me  the  door  has  opened  wide.  First,  I  remem 
bered  piecemeal,  with  wide  gaps,  then  more  con 
nectedly.  Then,  at  the  end  of  the  first  year,  I  met 
one  day  at  Cawnpore,  an  ascetic,  an  old  man  of  great 
beauty  and  wisdom,  and  he  was  able  by  his  own 
knowledge  to  enlighten  mine.  Not  wholly — much 
has  come  since  then.  Has  come,  some  of  it  in  ways 
you  could  not  understand  now,  but  much  by  direct 
sight  and  hearing.  Long,  long  ago  I  lived  in  Pesha 
war,  and  my  story  was  a  sorrowful  one.  I  will  tell 
you  a  little  before  I  go." 


THE  INTERPRETER  153 

"I  hold  you  to  your  promise.  What  is  there  I  can 
not  believe  when  you  tell  me?  But  does  that  life  put 
you  altogether  away  from  me?  Was  there  no  place 
for  me  in  any  of  your  memories  that  has  drawn  us 
together  now?  Give  me  a  little  hope  that  in  the 
eternal  pilgrimage  there  is  some  bond  between  us 
and  some  rebirth  where  we  may  meet  again." 

"I  will  tell  you  that  also  before  we  part.  I  have 
grown  to  believe  that  you  do  love  me — and  therefore 
love  something  which  is  infinitely  above  me.1" 

"And  do  you  love  me  at  all?  Am  I  nothing,  Vanna 
-Vanna?" 

"My  friend,"  she  said,  and  laid  her  hand  on  mine. 

A  silence,  and  them  she  spoke,  very  low. 

"You  must  be  prepared  for  very  great  change, 
Stephen,  and  yet  believe  that  it  does  not  really  change 
things  at  all.  See  how  even  the  gods  pass  and  do  not 
change!  The  early  gods  of  India  are  gone  and  Shiva, 
Vishnu,  Krishna  have  taken  their  places  and  are  one 
and  the  same.  The  old  Buddhist  stories  say  that  in 
heaven — "The  flowers  of  the  garland  the  God  wore 
are  withered,  his  robes  of  majesty  are  waxed  old  and 
faded;  he  falls  from  his  high  estate,  and  is  re-born 
into  a  new  life."  But  he  lives  still  in  the  young  God 
who  is  born  among  men.  The  gods  cannot  die,  nor 
can  we  nor  anything  that  has  life.  Now  I  must  go 


in." 


154  THE  INTERPRETER 

I  sat  long  in  the  moonlight  thinking.  The  whole 
camp  was  sunk  in  sleep  and  the  young  dawn  was 
waking  upon  the  peaks  when  I  turned  in. 

The  days  that  were  left  we  spent  in  wandering  up 
the  Lidar  river  to  the  hills  that  are  the  first  ramp  of 
the  ascent  to  the  great  heights.  We  found  the  damp 
corners  where  the  mushrooms  grow  like  pearls — the 
mushrooms  of  which  she  said — "To  me  they  have  al 
ways  been  fairy  things.  To  see  them  in  the  silver- 
grey  dew  of  the  early  mornings — mysteriously  there 
like  the  manna  in  the  desert — they  are  elfin  plunder, 
and  as  a  child  I  was  half  afraid  of  them.  No  wonder 
they  are  the  darlings  of  folk-lore,  especially  in 
Celtic  countries  where  the  Little  People  move  in  the 
starlight.  Strange  to  think  they  are  here  too  among 
strange  gods!" 

We  climbed  to  where  the  wild  paeonies  bloom  in 
glory  that  few  eyes  see,  and  the  rosy  beds  of  wild 
sweet  strawberries  ripen.  Every  hour  brought  with 
it  some  new  delight,  some  exquisiteness  of  sight  or  of 
words  that  I  shall  remember  for  ever.  She  sat  one 
day  on  a  rock,  holding  the  sculptured  leaves  and 
massive  seed-vessels  of  some  glorious  plant  that  the 
Kashmiris  believe  has  magic  virtues  hidden  in  the 
seeds  of  pure  rose  embedded  in  the  white  down. 

"If  you  fast  for  three  days  and  eat  nine  of  these 
in  the  Night  of  No  Moon,  you  can  rise  on  the  air 
light  as  thistledown  and  stand  on  the  peak  of  Hara- 


THE  INTERPRETER  155 

moukh.  And  on  Haramoukh,  as  you  know  it  is 
believed,  the  gods  dwell.  There  was  a  man  here 
who  tried  this  enchantment.  He  was  a  changed 
man  for  ever  after,  wandering  and  muttering  to  him 
self  and  avoiding  all  human  intercourse  as  far  as  he 
could.  He  was  no  Kashmiri — A  Jat  from  the  Pun 
jab,  and,  they  showed  him  to  me  when  I  was  here 
with  the  Meryons,  and  told  me  he  would  speak  to 
none.  But  I  knew  he  would  speak  to  me,  and  he 
did." 

"Did  he  tell  you  anything  of  what  he  had  seen  in 
the  high  world  up  yonder?" 

"He  said  he  had  seen  the  Dream  of  the  God.  I 
could  not  get  more  than  that.  But  there  are  many 
people  here  who  believe  that  the  Universe  as  we 
know  it  is  but  an  image  in  the  dream  of  Ishvara,  the 
Universal  Spirit — in  whom  are  all  the  gods — and 
that  when  He  ceases  to  dream  we  pass  again  into 
the  Night  of  Brahm,  and  all  is  darkness  until  the 
Spirit  of  God  moves  again  on  the  face  of  the  waters. 
There  are  few  temples  to  Brahm.  He  is  above  and 
beyond  all  direct  worship." 

"Do  you  think  he  had  seen  anything?'" 

"What  do  I  know?  Will  you  eat  the  seeds?  The 
Night  of  No  Moon  will  soon  be  here." 

She  held  out  the  seed-vessels,  laughing.  I  write 
that  down  but  how  record  the  lovely  light  of  kindli 
ness  in  her  eyes — the  almost  submissive  gentleness 


156  THE  INTERPRETER 

that  yet  was  a  defence  stronger  than  steel.  I  never 
knew — how  should  I? — whether  she  was  sitting  by 
my  side  or  heavens  away  from  me  in  her  own  strange 
world.  But  always  she  was  a  sweetness  that  I  could 
not  reach,  a  cup  of  nectar  that  I  might  not  drink, 
unalterably  her  own  and  never  mine,  and  yet — my 
friend. 

She  showed  me  the  wild  track  up  into  the  moun 
tains  where  the  Pilgrims  go  to  pay  their  devotions  at 
the  Great  God's  shrine  in  the  awful  heights,  regretting 
that  we  were  too  early  for  that  most  wonderful  sight. 
Above  where  we  were  sitting  the  river  fell  in  a  tor 
mented  white  cascade,  crashing  and  feathering  into 
spray-dust  of  diamonds.  An  eagle  was  flying  above 
it  with  a  mighty  spread  of  wings  that  seemed  almost 
double-jointed  in  the  middle — they  curved  and 
flapped  so  wide  and  free.  The  fierce  head  was  out 
stretched  with  the  rake  of  a  plundering  galley  as  he 
swept  down  the  wind,  seeking  his  meat  from  God, 
and  passed  majestic  from  our  sight.  The  valley 
beneath  us  was  littered  with  enormous  boulders  spilt 
from  the  ancient  hollows  of  the  hills.  It  must  have 
been  a  great  sight  when  the  giants  set  them  trundling 
down  in  work  or  play! — I  said  this  to  Vanna,  who 
was  looking  down  upon  it  with  meditative  eyes.  She 
roused  herself. 

"Yes,  this  really  is  Giant-Land  up  here — every 
thing  is  so  huge.  And  when  they  quarrel  up  in  the 


THE  INTERPRETER  157 

heights — in  Jotunheim — and  the  black  storms  come 
down  the  valleys  it  is  like  colossal  laughter  or  clumsy 
boisterous  anger.  And  the  Frost  giants  are  still  at 
work  up  there  with  their  great  axes  of  frost  and  rain. 
They  fling  down  the  side  of  a  mountain  or  make 
fresh  ways  for  the  rivers.  About  sixty  years  ago — 
far  above  here — they  tore  down  a  mountain  side  and 
damned  up  the  mighty  Indus,  so  that  for  months  he 
was  a  lake,  shut  back  in  the  hills.  But  the  river 
giants  are  no  less  strong  up  here  in  the  heights  of  the 
world,  and  he  lay  brooding  and  biding  his  time. 
And  then  one  awful  day  he  tore  the  barrier  down  and 
roared  down  the  valley  carrying  death  and  ruin  with 
him,  and  swept  away  a  whole  Sikh  army  among  other 
unconsidered  trifles.  That  must  have  been  a  soul- 
shaking  sight." 

She  spoke  on,  and  as  she  spoke  I  saw.  What  are 
her  words  as  I  record  them?  Stray  dead  leaves 
pressed  in  a  book — the  life  and  grace  dead.  Yet  I 
record,  for  she  taught  me  what  I  believe  the  world 
should  learn,  that  the  Buddhist  philosophers  are 
right  when  they  teach  that  all  forms  of  what  we  call 
matter  are  really  but  aggregates  of  spiritual  units, 
and  that  life  itself  is  a  curtain  hiding  reality  as  the 
vast  veil  of  day  conceals  from  our  sight  the  countless 
orbs  of  space.  So  that  the  purified  mind  even  while 
prisoned  in  the  body,  may  enter  into  union  with  the 
Real  and,  according  to  attainment,  see  it  as  it  is. 


158  THE  INTERPRETER 

She  was  an  interpreter  because  she  believed  this 
truth  profoundly.  She  saw  the  spiritual  essence 
beneath  the  lovely  illusion  of  matter,  and  the  air 
about  her  was  radiant  with  the  motion  of  strange 
forces  for  which  the  dull  world  has  many  names  aim 
ing  indeed  at  the  truth,  but  falling — 0  how  far  short 
of  her  calm  perception!  She  was  indeed  of  a  House 
hold  higher  than  the  Household  of  Faith.  She  had 
received  enlightenment.  She  beheld  with  open  eyes. 

Next  day  our  camp  was  struck  and  we  turned  our 
faces  again  to  Srinagar  and  to  the  day  of  parting. 
I  set  down  but  one  strange  incident  of  our  journey, 
of  which  I  did  not  speak  even  to  her. 

We  were  camping  at  Bijbehara,  awaiting  our  house 
boat,  and  the  site  was  by  the  Maharaja's  lodge  above 
the  little  town.  It  was  midnight  and  I  was  sleepless 
—the  shadow  of  the  near  future  was  upon  me.  I 
wandered  down  to  the  lovely  old  wooded  bridge 
across  the  Jhelum,  where  the  strong  young  trees  grow 
up  from  the  piles.  Beyond  it  the  moon  was  shining 
on  the  ancient  Hindu  remains  close  to  the  new  tem 
ple,  and  as  I  stood  on  the  bridge  I  could  see  the 
figure  of  a  man  in  deepest  meditation  by  the  ruins. 
He  was  no  European.  I  saw  the  straight  dignified 
folds  of  the  robes.  But  it  was  not  surprising  he 
should  be  there  and  I  should  have  thought  no  more 
of  it,  had  I  not  heard  at  that  instant  from  the  further 
side  of  the  river  the  music  of  the  Flute.  I  cannot 


THE  INTERPRETER  159 

hope  to  describe  that  music  to  any  who  have  not 
heard  it.  Suffice  it  to  say  that  where  it  calls  he  who 
hears  must  follow  whether  in  the  body  or  the  spirit. 
Nor  can  I  now  tell  in  which  I  followed.  One  day 
it  will  call  me  across  the  River  of  Death,  and  I  shall 
ford  it  or  sink  in  the  immeasurable  depths  and  either 
will  be  well. 

But  immediately  I  was  at  the  other  side  of  the 
river,  standing  by  the  stone  Bull  of  Shiva  where  he 
kneels  before  the  Symbol,  and  looking  steadfastly 
upon  me  a  few  paces  away  was  a  man  in  the  dress  of 
a  Buddhist  monk.  He  wore  the  yellow  robe  that 
leaves  one  shoulder  bare;  his  head  was  bare  also  and 
he  held  in  one  hand  a  small  bowl  like  a  stemless 
chalice.  I  knew  I  was  seeing  a  very  strange  in 
explicable  sight — one  that  in  Kashmir  should  be  in 
credible,  but  I  put  wonder  aside  for  I  knew  now  that 
I  was  moving  in  the  sphere  where  the  incredible  may 
well  be  the  actual.  His  expression  was  of  the  most 
unbroken  calm.  If  I  compare  it  to  the  passionless 
gaze  of  the  Sphinx  I  misrepresent,  for  the  Riddle  of 
the  Sphinx  still  awaits  solution,  but  in  this  face  was 
a  noble  acquiescence  and  a  content  that  had  it  vi 
brated  must  have  passed  into  joy. 

Words  or  their  equivalent  passed  between  us.  I 
felt  his  voice. 

"You  have  heard  the  music  of  the  Flute?" 

"I  have  heard." 


160  THE  INTERPRETER 

"What  has  it  given?" 

"A  consuming  longing." 

"It  is  the  music  of  the  Eternal.  The  creeds  and 
the  faiths  are  the  words  that  men  have  set  to  that 
melody.  Listening,  it  will  lead  you  to  Wisdom. 
Day  by  day  you  will  interpret  more  surely." 

"I  cannot  stand  alone." 

"You  will  not  need.  What  has  led  you  will  lead 
you  still.  Through  many  births  it  has  led  you. 
How  should  it  fail?" 

"What  should  I  do?" 

"Go  forward." 

"What  should  I  shun?" 

"Sorrow  and  fear." 

"What  should  I  seek?" 

"Joy." 

"And  the  end?" 

"Joy.  Wisdom.  They  are  the  Light  and  Dark  of 
the  Divine." 

A  cold  breeze  passed  and  touched  my  forehead. 
I  was  still  standing  in  the  middle  of  the  bridge 
above  the  water  gliding  to  the  Ocean,  and  there 
was  no  figure  by  the  Bull  of  Shiva.  I  was  alone. 
I  passed  back  to  the  tents  with  the  shudder  that  is  not 
fear  but  akin  to  death  upon  me.  I  knew  I  had  been 
profoundly  withdrawn  from  what  we  call  actual  life, 
and  the  return  is  dread. 

The  days  passed  as  we  floated  down  the  river  to 


THE  INTERPRETER  161 

Srinagar.  On  board  the  Kedarnath,  now  lying  in 
our  first  berth  beneath  the  chenars  near  and  yet  far 
from  the  city,  the  last  night  had  come.  Next  morn 
ing  I  should  begin  the  long  ride  to  Baramula  and 
beyond  that  barrier  of  the  Happy  Valley  down  to 
Murree  and  the  Punjab.  Where  afterwards?  I 
neither  knew  nor  cared.  My  lesson  was  before  me 
to  be  learned.  I  must  try  to  detach  myself  from  all 
I  had  prized — to  say  to  my  heart  it  was  but  a  loan 
and  no  gift,  and  to  cling  only  to  the  imperishable. 
And  did  I  as  yet  certainly  know  more  than  the 
A  B  C  of  the  hard  doctrine  by  which  I  must  live? 
"Que  vivre  est  difficile,  0  mon  coeur  fatigue!" — 
an  immense  weariness  possessed  me — a  passive  grief. 

Vanna  would  follow  later  with  the  wife  of  an 
Indian  doctor.  I  believed  she  was  bound  for  Lahore 
but  on  that  point  she  had  not  spoken  certainly  and  I 
felt  we  should  not  meet  again. 

And  now  my  packing  was  finished,  and,  as  far  as 
my  possessions  went,  the  little  cabin  had  the  soulless 
emptiness  that  comes  with  departure.  I  was  enduring 
as  best  I  could.  If  she  had  held  loyally  to  her  pact, 
could  I  do  less.  Was  she  to  blame  for  my  wild  hope 
that  in  the  end  she  would  relent  and  step  down  to  the 
household  levels  of  love? 

She  sat  by  the  window — the  last  time  I  should  see 
the  moonlit  banks  and  her  clear  face  against  them.  I 
made  and  won  my  fight  for  the  courage  of  words. 


162  THE  INTERPRETER 

"And  now  I've  finished  everything — thank  good 
ness!  and  we  can  talk.  Vanna — you  will  write  to 
me?" 

"Once.     I  promise  that." 

"Only  once?       Why?     I  counted  on  your  words." 

"I  want  to  speak  to  you  of  something  else  now.  I 
want  to  tell  you  a  memory.  But  look  first  at  the  pale 
light  behind  the  Takht-i-Suliman." 

So  I  had  seen  it  with  her.  So  I  should  not  see  it 
again.  We  watched  until  a  line  of  silver  sparkled  on 
the  black  water,  and  then  she  spoke  again. 

"Stephen,  do  you  remember  in  the  ruined  mon 
astery  near  Peshawar,  how  I  told  you  of  the  young 
Abbot,  who  came  down  to  Peshawar  with  a  Chinese 
pilgrim?  And  he  never  returned." 

"I  remember.     There  was  a  Dancer." 

"There  was  a  Dancer.  She  was  Lilavanti,  and  she 
was  brought  there  to  trap  him  but  when  she  saw  him 
she  loved  him,  and  that  was  his  ruin  and  hers. 
Trickery  he  would  have  known  and  escaped.  Love 
caught  him  in  an  unbreakable  net,  and  they  fled  down 
the  Punjab  and  no  one  knew  any  more.  But  I  know. 
For  two  years  they  lived  together  and  she  saw  the 
agony  in  his  heart —  the  anguish  of  his  broken  vows, 
the  face  of  the  Blessed  One  receding  into  an  infinite 
distance.  She  knew  that  every  day  added  a  link  to 
the  heavy  Karma  that  was  bound  about  the  feet  she 
loved,  and  her  soul  said  "Set  him  free,'1'  and  her  heart 


THE  INTERPRETER  163 

refused  the  torture.  But  her  soul  was  the  stronger. 
She  set  him  free." 

"How?" 

"She  took  poison.  He  became  an  ascetic  in  the 
hills  and  died  in  peace  but  with  a  long  expiation  upon 
him." 

"And  she?" 

"I  am  she." 

"You!"  I  heard  my  voice  as  if  it  were  another 
man's.  Was  it  possible  that  I — a  man  of  the 
twentieth  century,  believed  this  impossible  thing? 
Impossible,  and  yet — what  had  I  learnt  if  not  the  unity 
of  Time,  the  illusion  of  matter?  What  is  the 
twentieth  century,  what  the  first?  Do  they  not  lie 
before  the  Supreme  as  one,  and  clean  from  our  petty 
divisions?  And  I  myself  had  seen  what,  if  I  could 
trust  it,  asserted  the  marvels  that  are  no  marvels  to 
those  who  know. 

"You  loved  him?" 

"I  love  him." 

"Then  there  is  nothing  at  all  for  me." 

She  resumed  as  if  she  had  heard  nothing. 

"I  have  lost  him  for  many  lives.  He  stepped  above 
me  at  once,  for  he  was  clean  gold  though  he  fell,  and 
though  I  have  followed  I  have  not  found.  But  that 
Buddhist  beyond  Islamabad — you  shall  hear  now 
what  he  said.  It  was  this.  'The  shut  door  opens, 
and  this  time  he  awaits.'  I  cannot  yet  say  all  it 


164  THE  INTERPRETER 

means,  but  there  is  no  Lahore  for  me.  I  shall  meet 
him  soon." 

"Vanna,  you  would  not  harm  yourself  again?'* 

"Never.  I  should  not  meet  him.  But  you  will 
see.  Now  I  can  talk  no  more.  I  will  be  there 
tomorrow  when  you  go,  and  I  will  ride  with  you  to  the 
poplar  road." 

She  passed  like  a  shadow  into  her  little  dark  cabin, 
and  I  was  left  alone.  I  will  not  dwell  on  that  black 
loneliness  of  the  spirit,  for  it  has  passed — it  was  the 
darkness  of  hell,  a  madness  of  jealousy,  and  could 
have  no  enduring  life  in  any  heart  that  had  known  her. 
But  it  was  death  while  it  lasted.  I  had  moments  of 
horrible  belief,  of  horrible  disbelief,  but  however  it 
might  be  I  knew  that  she  was  out  of  reach  for  ever. 
Near  me — yes!  but  only  as  the  silver  image  of  the 
moon  floated  in  the  water  by  the  boat,  with  the  moon 
herself  cold  myriads  of  miles  away.  I  will  say  no 
more  of  that  last  eclipse  of  what  she  had  wrought  in 
me. 

The  bright  morning  came,  sunny  as  if  my  joys  were 
beginning  instead  of  ending.  Vanna  mounted  her 
horse,  and  led  the  way  from  the  boat.  I  cast  one 
long  look  at  the  little  Kedarnath,  the  home  of  those 
perfect  weeks,  of  such  joy  and  sorrow  as  would  have 
seemed  impossible  to  me  in  the  chrysalis  of  my  former 
existence.  Little  Kahdra  stood  crying  bitterly  on  the 
bank — the  kindly  folk  who  had  served  us  were 


THE  INTERPRETER  165 

gathered  saddened  and  quiet.  I  set  my  teeth  and 
followed  her. 

How  dear  she  looked,  how  kind,  how  gentle  her 
appealing  eyes,  as  I  drew  up  beside  her.  She  knew 
what  I  felt.  She  knew  that  the  sight  of  little  Kahdra 
crying  as  he  said  good-bye  was  the  last  pull  at  my 
sore  heart.  Still  she  rode  steadily  on,  and  still  I 
followed.  Once  she  spoke. 

"Stephen,  there  was  a  man  in  Peshawar,  kind  and 
true,  who  loved  that  Lilavanti  who  had  no  heart  for 
him.  And  when  she  died,  it  was  in  his  arms,  as  a 
sister  might  cling  to  a  brother,  for  the  man  she  loved 
had  left  her.  It  seems  that  will  not  be  in  this  life, 
but  do  not  think  I  have  been  so  blind  that  I  did  not 
know  my  friend." 

I  could  not  answer — it  was  the  realization  of  the 
utmost  I  could  hope  and  it  came  like  healing  to  my 
spirit.  Better  that  bond  between  us,  slight  as  most 
men  might  think  it,  than  the  dearest  and  closest  with 
a  woman  not  Vanna.  It  was  the  first  thrill  of  a  new 
joy  in  my  heart — the  first,  I  thank  the  Infinite,  of 
many  and  steadily  growing  joys  and  hopes  that  cannot 
be  uttered  here. 

I  bent  to  take  the  hand  she  stretched  to  me,  but 
even  as  they  touched,  I  saw,  passing  behind  the  trees 
by  the  road,  the  young  man  I  had  seen  in  the  garden 
at  Vernag — most  beautiful,  in  the  strange  mitre  of 
his  jewelled  diadem.  His  Flute  was  at  his  lips  and 


166  THE  INTERPRETER 

the  music  rang  out  sudden  and  crystal  clear  as  though 
a  woodland  god  were  passing  to  awaken  all  the  joys 
of  the  dawn. 

The  horses  heard  too.  In  an  instant  hers  had 
swerved  wildly,  and  she  lay  on  the  ground  at  my  feet. 
The  music  had  ceased. 

Days  had  gone  before  I  could  recall  what  had 
happened  then.  I  lifted  her  in  my  arms  and  carried 
her  into  the  rest-house  near  at  hand,  and  the  doctor 
came  and  looked  grave,  and  a  nurse  was  sent  from  the 
Mission  Hospital.  No  doubt  all  was  done  that  was 
possible,  but  I  knew  from  the  first  what  it  meant  and 
how  it  would  be.  She  lay  in  a  white  stillness,  and  the 
room  was  quiet  as  death.  I  remembered  with  un 
speakable  gratitude  later  that  the  nurse  had  been 
merciful  and  had  not  sent  me  away. 

So  Vanna  lay  all  day  and  through  the  night,  and 
when  the  dawn  came  again  she  stirred  and  motioned 
with  her  hand,  although  her  eyes  were  closed.  I 
understood,  and  kneeling,  I  put  my  hand  under  her 
head,  and  rested  it  against  my  shoulder.  Her  faint 
voice  murmured  at  my  ear. 

"I  dreamed — I  was  in  the  pine  wood  at  Pahlgam 
and  it  was  the  Night  of  No  Moon,  and  I  was  afraid 
for  it  was  dark,  but  suddenly  all  the  trees  were  covered 
with  little  lights  like  stars,  and  the  greater  light  was 
beyond.  Nothing  to  be  afraid  of." 


THE  INTERPRETER  167 

"Nothing,  Beloved." 

"And  I  looked  beyond  Peshawar,  further  than  eyes 
could  see,  and  in  the  ruins  of  the  monastery  where  we 
stood,  you  and  I — I  saw  him,  and  he  lay  with  his 
head  at  the  feet  of  the  Blessed  One.  That  is  well,  is 
it  not?" 

"Well,  Beloved." 

"And  it  is  well  I  go?     Is  it  not?" 

"It  is  well." 

A  long  silence.  The  first  sun  ray  touched  the  floor. 
Again  the  whisper. 

"Believe  what  I  have  told  you.  For  we  shall  meet 
again."  I  repeated — 

"We  shall  meet  again." 

In  my  arms  she  died. 

Later,  when  all  was  over  I  asked  myself  if  I 
believed  this  and  answered  with  full  assurance — Yes. 

If  the  story  thus  told  sounds  incredible  it  was  not 
incredible  to  me.  I  had  had  a  profound  experience. 
What  is  a  miracle?  It  is  simply  the  vision  of  the 
Divine  behind  nature.  It  will  come  in  different  forms 
according  to  the  eyes  that  see,  but  the  soul  will  know 
that  its  perception  is  authentic. 

I  could  not  leave  Kashmir,  nor  was  there  any  need. 
On  the  contrary  I  saw  that  there  was  work  for  me  here 
among  the  people  she  had  loved,  and  my  first  aim  was 
to  fit  myself  for  that  and  for  the  writing  I  now  felt  was 
to  be  my  career  in  life.  After  much  thought  I  bought 


168  THE  INTERPRETER 

the  little  Kedarnath  and  made  it  my  home,  very' 
greatly  to  the  satisfaction  of  little  Kahdra  and  all 
the  friendly  people  to  whom  I  owed  so  much. 

Vanna's  cabin  I  made  my  sleeping  room,  and  it  is 
the  simple  truth  that  the  first  night  I  slept  in  the  place 
that  was  a  Temple  of  Peace  in  my  thoughts,  I  had  a 
dream  of  wordless  bliss,  and  starting  awake  for  sheer 
joy  I  saw  her  face  in  the  night,  human  and  dear, 
looking  down  upon  me  with  that  poignant  sweetness 
which  would  seem  to  be  the  utmost  revelation  of  love 
and  pity.  And  as  I  stretched  my  hands,  another  face 
dawned  solemnly  from  the  shadow  beside  her  with 
grave  brows  bent  on  mine — one  I  had  known  and  seen 
in  the  ruins  at  Bijbehara.  Outside  and  very  near  I 
could  hear  the  silver  weaving  of  the  Flute  that  in 
India  is  the  symbol  of  the  call  of  the  Divine.  A 
dream — yes,  but  it  taught  me  to  live.  At  first,  in  my 
days  of  grief  and  loss,  I  did  but  dream — the  days 
were  hard  to  endure.  I  will  not  dwell  on  that  illusion 
of  sorrow,  now  long  dead.  I  lived  only  for  the  night. 

"When  sleep  comes  to  close  each  difficult  day, 
When  night  gives  pause  to  the  long  watch  I  keep, 

And  all  my  bonds  I  needs  must  loose  apart, 
Must  doff  my  will  as  raiment  laid  away — 

With  the  first  dream  that  comes  with  the  first  sleep, 
I  run — I  run!     I  am  gathered  to  thy  heart!" 

To  the  heart  of  her  pity.     Thus  for  awhile  I  lived. 


THE  INTERPRETER  169 

Slowly  I  became  conscious  of  her  abiding  presence 
about  me,  day  or  night.     It  grew  clearer,  closer. 

Like  the  austere  Hippolytus  to  his  unseen  Goddess, 
I  could  say; 

"Who  am  more  to  thee  than  other  mortals  are, 
Whose  is  the  holy  lot, 

As  friend  with  friend  to  walk  and  talk  with  thee, 
Hearing  thy  sweet  mouth's  music  in  mine  ear, 
But  thee  beholding  not." 

That  was  much,  but  later,  the  sunshine  was  no  bar, 
the  bond  strengthened  and  there  have  been  days  in  the 
heights  of  the  hills,  in  the  depths  of  the  woods,  when 
I  saw  her  as  in  life,  passing  at  a  distance,  but  real  and 
lovely.  Life?  She  had  never  lived  as  she  did  now 
— a  spirit,  freed  and  rejoicing.  For  me  the  door  she 
had  opened  would  never  shut.  The  Presences  were 
about  me,  and  I  entered  upon  my  heritage  of  joy, 
knowing  that  in  Kashmir,  the  holy  land  of  Beauty, 
they  walk  very  near,  and  lift  up  the  folds  of  the  Dark 
that  the  initiate  may  see  the  light  behind. 

So  I  began  my  solitary  life  of  gladness.  I  wrote, 
aided  by  the  little  book  she  has  left  me,  full  of 
strangest  stories,  stranger  by  far  than  my  own 
brain  could  conceive.  Some  to  be  revealed — some 
to  be  hidden.  And  thus  the  world  will  one  day 
receive  the  story  of  the  Dancer  of  Peshawar  in  her 
upward  lives,  that  it  may  know,  if  it  will,  that  death 
is  nothing — for  Life  and  Love  are  all. 


THE  INCOMPARABLE  LADY 
A  STORY  OF  CHINA  WITH  A  MORAL 


THE  INCOMPARABLE  LADY 
A    STORY  OF  CHINA  WITH  A  MORAL 

IT  is  recorded  that  when  the  Pearl  Empress  (his 
mother)  asked  of  the  philosophic  Yellow 
Emperor  which  he  considered  the  most  beautiful 
of  the  Imperial  concubines,  he  replied  instantly:  "The 
Lady  A-Kuei":  and  when  the  Royal  Parent  in  pro 
found  astonishment  demanded  how  this  could  be, 
having  regard  to  the  exquisite  beauties  in  question, 
the  Emperor  replied; 

"I  have  never  seen  her.  It  was  dark  when  I 
entered  the  Dragon  Chamber  and  dusk  of  dawn  when 
I  rose  and  left  her." 

Then  said  the  Pearl  Empress; 

"Possibly  the  harmony  of  her  voice  solaced  the 
Son  of  Heaven?" 

But  he  replied ; 

"She  spoke  not." 

And  the  Pearl  Empress  rejoined: 

"Her  limbs  then  are  doubtless  softer  than  the  king 
fisher's  plumage?" 

But  the  Yellow  Emperor  replied; 

173 


174          THE  INCOMPARABLE  LADY 

"Doubtless.  Yet  I  have  not  touched  them.  I  was 
that  night  immersed  in  speculations  on  the  Yin  and 
the  Yang.  How  then  should  I  touch  a  woman?" 

And  the  Pearl  Empress  was  silent  from  very  great 
amazement,  not  daring  to  question  further  but 
marvelling  how  the  thing  might  be.  And  seeing  this, 
the  Yellow  Emperor  recited  a  poem  to  the  following 
effect: 

"It  is  said  that  Power  rules  the  world 
And  who  shall  gainsay  it? 

But  Loveliness  is  the  head-jewel  upon  the  brow 
of  Power." 

And  when  the  Empress  had  listened  with  reverence 
to  the  Imperial  Poet,  she  quitted  the  August  Pres 
ence. 

Immediately,  having  entered  her  own  palace  of  the 
Tranquil  Motherly  Virtues,  she  caused  the  Lady  A- 
Kuei  to  be  summoned  to  her  presence,  who  came, 
habited  in  a  purple  robe  and  with  pins  of  jade  and 
coral  in  her  hair.  And  the  Pearl  Empress  con 
sidered  her  attentively,  recalling  the  perfect  features 
of  the  White  Jade  Concubine,  the  ambrosial  smile  of 
the  Princess  of  Feminine  Propriety,  and  the  willow- 
leaf  eyebrows  of  the  Lady  of  Chen,  and  her  astonish 
ment  was  excessive,  because  the  Lady  A-Kuei  could 
not  in  beauty  approach  any  one  of  these  ladies. 
Reflecting  further  she  then  placed  her  behind  the 


THE  INCOMPARABLE  LADY          175 

screen,  and  summoned  the  court  artist,  Lo  Cheng, 
who  had  been  formerly  commissioned  to  paint  the 
heavenly  features  of  the  Emperor's  Ladies,  mirrored 
in  still  water,  though  he  had  naturally  not  been  per 
mitted  to  view  the  beauties  themselves.  Of  him  the 
Empress  demanded: 

"Who  is  the  most  beautiful — which  the  most  price 
less  jewel  of  the  dwellers  in  the  Dragon  Palace?" 

And,  with  humility,  Lo  Cheng  replied: 

"What  mortal  man  shall  decide  between  the  white 
Crane  and  the  Swan,  or  between  the  paeony  flower  and 
the  lotos?"  And  having  thus  said  he  remained  silent, 
and  in  him  was  no  help.  Finally  and  after  exhorta 
tion  the  Pearl  Empress  condescended  to  threaten  him 
with  the  loss  of  a  head  so  useless  to  himself  and  to 
her  majesty.  Then,  in  great  fear  and  haste  he  re 
plied  : 

"Of  all  the  flowers  that  adorn  the  garden  of  the  Son 
of  Heaven,  the  Lady  A-Kuei  is  the  fittest  to  be  gathered 
by  the  Imperial  Hand,  and  this  is  my  deliberate 
opinion." 

Now,  hearing  this  statement,  the  Pearl  Empress 
was  submerged  in  bewilderment,  knowing  that  the 
Lady  A-Kuei  had  modestly  retired  when  the  artist 
had  depicted  the  reflection  of  the  assembled  loveliness 
of  the  Inner  Chambers,  as  not  counting  herself  worthy 
of  portraiture,  and  her  features  were  therefore  un 
known  to  him.  Nor  could  the  Empress  further 


176          THE  INCOMPARABLE  LADY 

question  the  artist,  for  when  she  had  done  so,  he 
replied  only: 

"This  is  the  Secret  of  the  Son  of  Heaven,"  and, 
having  gained  permission,  he  swiftly  departed. 

Nor  could  the  Lady  A-Kuei  herself  aid  her 
Imperial  Majesty,  for  on  being  questioned  she  was 
overwhelmed  with  modesty  and  confusion,  and  with 
stammering  lips  could  only  repeat: 

"This  is  the  secret  of  his  Divine  Majesty," 
imploring  with  the  utmost  humility,  forgiveness  from 
the  Imperial  Mother. 

The  Pearl  Empress  was  unable  to  eat  her  supper. 
In  vain  were  spread  before  her  the  delicacies  of  the 
Empire.  She  could  but  trifle  with  a  shark's  fin  and 
a  "Silver  Ear"  fungus  and  a  dish  of  slugs  entrapped 
upon  roses,  with  the  dew-like  pearls  upon  them.  Her 
burning  curiosity  had  wholly  deprived  her  of  appetite, 
nor  could  the  amusing  exertions  of  the  Palace  mimes, 
or  a  lantern  fete  upon  the  lake  restore  her  to  any 
composure.  "This  circumstance  will  cause  my  flight 
on  the  Dragon  (death),"  she  said  to  herself,  "unless 
I  succeed  in  unveiling  the  mystery.  What  therefore 
should  be  my  next  proceeding?" 

And  so,  deeply  reflecting,  she  caused  the  Chief  of 
the  Eunuchs  to  summon  the  Princess  of  Feminine 
Propriety,  the  White  Jade  Concubine  and  all  the  other 
exalted  beauties  of  the  Heavenly  Palace. 


THE  INCOMPARABLE  LADY  177 

In  due  course  of  time  these  ladies  arrived,  paying 
suitable  respect  and  obeisance  to  the  Mother  of  his 
Divine  Majesty.  They  were  resplendent  in  king 
fisher  ornaments,  in  jewels  of  jade,  crystal  and  coral, 
in  robes  of  silk  and  gauze,  and  still  more  resplendent 
in  charms  that  not  the  Celestial  Empire  itself  could 
equal,  setting  aside  entirely  all  countries  of  the 
foreign  barbarians.  (And  in  grace  and  elegance  of 
manners,  in  skill  in  the  arts  of  poetry  and  the  lute, 
what  could  surpass  them? 

Like  a  parterre  of  flowers  they  surrounded  her 
Majesty,  and  awaited  her  pleasure  with  perfect 
decorum,  when,  having  saluted  them  with  affability 
she  thus  addressed  them — 

"Lovely  ones — ladies  distinguished  by  the  par 
ticular  attention  of  your  sovereign  and  mine,  I  have 
sent  for  you  to  resolve  a  doubt  and  a  difficulty.  On 
questioning  our  sovereign  as  to  whom  he  regarded  as 
the  loveliest  of  his  garden  of  beauty  he  benignantly 
replied:  "The  Lady  A-Kuei  is  incomparable,"  and 
though  this  might  well  be,  he  further  graciously  added 
that  he  had  never  seen  her.  Nor,  on  pursuing  the 
subject,  could  I  learn  the  Imperial  reason.  The  artist 
Lo  Cheng  follows  in  his  Master's  footsteps,  he  also 
never  having  seen  the  favoured  lady,  and  he  and  she 
reply  to  me  that  this  is  an  Imperial  secret.  Declare 
to  me  therefore  if  your  perspicacity  and  the  feminine 


178          THE  INCOMPARABLE  LADY 

interest  which  every  lady  properly  takes  in  the  other 
can  unravel  this  mystery,  for  my  liver  is  tormented 
with  anxiety  beyond  measure." 

As  soon  as  the  Pearl  Empress  had  spoken  she 
realized  that  she  had  committed  a  great  indiscretion. 
A  babel  of  voices,  of  cries,  questions  and  contradic 
tions  instantly  arose.  Decorum  was  abandoned. 
The  Lady  of  Chen  swooned,  nor  could  she  be  revived 
for  an  hour,  and  the  Princess  of  Feminine  Propriety 
and  the  White  Jade  Concubine  could  be  dragged 
apart  only  by  the  united  efforts  of  six  of  the  Palace 
matrons,  so  great  was  their  fury  the  one  with  the 
other,  each  accusing  each  of  encouragement  to  the 
Lady  A-Kuei's  pretensions.  So  also  with  the  re 
maining  ladies.  Shrieks  resounded  through  the  Hall 
of  Virtuous  Tranquillity,  and  when  the  Pearl  Empress 
attempted  to  pour  oil  on  the  troubled  waters  by  speak 
ing  soothing  and  comfortable  words,  the  august  Voice 
was  entirely  inaudible  in  the  tumult. 

All  sought  at  length  in  united  indignation  for  the 
Lady  A-Kuei,  but  she  had  modestly  withdrawn  to  the 
Pearl  Pavilion  in  the  Imperial  Garden  and,  foreseeing 
anxieties,  had  there  secured  herself  on  hearing  the 
opening  of  the  Royal  Speech. 

Finally  the  ladies  were  led  away  by  their  attend 
ants,  weeping,  lamenting,  raging,  according  to  their 
several  dispositions,  and  the  Pearl  Empress,  left  with 
her  own  maidens,  beheld  the  floor  strewn  with  jade 


THE  INCOMPARABLE  LADY  179 

pins,  kingfisher  and  coral  jewels,  and  even  with  frag 
ments  of  silk  and  gauze.  Nor  was  she  any  nearer 
the  solution  of  the  desired  secret. 

That  night  she  tossed  upon  a  bed  sleepless  though 
heaped  with  down,  and  her  mind  raged  like  a  fire  up 
and  down  all  possible  answers  to  the  riddle,  but  none 
would  serve.  Then,  at  the  dawn,  raising  herself  on 
one  august  elbow  she  called  to  her  venerable  nurse 
and  foster  mother,  the  Lady  Ma,  wise  and  resource 
ful  in  the  affairs  and  difficulties  of  women,  and,  re 
peating  the  circumstances,  demanded  her  counsel. 

The  Lady  Ma  considering  the  matter  long  and 
deeply,  slowly  replied: 

"This  is  a  great  riddle  and  dangerous,  for  to  inter 
meddle  with  the  divine  secrets  is  the  high  road  to 
the  Yellow  Springs  (death).  But  the  child  of  my 
breasts  and  my  exalted  Mistress  shall  never  ask  in 
vain,  for  a  thwarted  curiosity  is  dangerous  as  a  sup 
pressed  fever.  I  will  conceal  myself  nightly  in  the 
Dragon  Bedchamber  and  this  will  certainly  unveil 
the  truth.  And  if  I  perish  I  perish." 

It  is  impossible  to  describe  how  the  Empress 
heaped  Lady  Ma  with  costly  jewels  and  silken  bro 
cades  and  taels  of  silver  beyond  measuring — how  she 
placed  on  her  breast  the  amulet  of  jade  that  had 
guarded  herself  from  all  evil  influences,  how  she 
called  the  ancestral  spirits  to  witness  that  she  would 
provide  for  the  Lady  Ma's  remotest  descendants  if 


180  THE  INCOMPARABLE  LADY 

she  lost  her  life  in  this  sublime  devotion  to  duty. 

That  night  Lady  Ma  concealed  herself  behind  the 
Imperial  couch  in  the  Dragon  Chamber,  to  await  the 
coming  of  the  Son  of  Heaven.  Slowly  dripped  the 
water-clock  as  the  minutes  fled  away;  sorely  ached 
the  venerable  limbs  of  the  Lady  Ma  as  she  crouched 
in  the  shadows  and  saw  the  rising  moon  scattering 
silver  through  the  elegant  traceries  of  carved  ebony 
and  ivory;  wildly  beat  her  heart  as  delicately  tripping 
footsteps  approached  the  Dragon  Chamber,  and  the 
Princess  of  Feminine  Propriety,  attended  by  her 
maidens,  ascended  the  Imperial  Couch  and  hastily 
dismissed  them.  Yet  no  sweet  repose  awaited  this 
favoured  lady.  The  Lady  Ma  could  hear  her  smoth 
ered  sobs,  her  muttered  exclamations — nay  could 
even  feel  the  couch  itself  tremble  as  the  Princess 
uttered  the  hated  name  of  the  Lady  A-Kuei,  the  poi 
son  of  jealousy  running  in  every  vein.  It  was  im 
possible  for  Lady  Ma  to  decide  which  was  the  most 
virulent,  this,  or  the  poison  of  curiosity  in  the  heart 
of  the  Pearl  Empress.  Though  she  loved  not  the 
Princess  she  was  compelled  to  pity  such  suffering. 
But  all  thought  was  banished  by  the  approach  of  the 
Yellow  Emperor,  prepared  for  repose  and  unat 
tended,  in  simple  but  divine  grandeur. 

It  cannot  indeed  be  supposed  that  a  Celestial 
Emperor  is  human,  yet  there  was  mortality  in  the 
start  which  his  Augustness  gave  when  the  Princess  of 


THE  INCOMPARABLE  LADY  181 

Feminine  Propriety  flinging  herself  from  the  Dragon 
couch,  threw  herself  at  his  feet  and  with  tears  that 
flowed  like  that  river  known  as  "The  Sorrow  of 
China,"  demanded  to  know  what  she  had  done  that 
another  should  be  preferred  before  her;  reciting  in 
frantic  haste  such  imperfections  of  the  Lady  A-Kuei's 
appearance  as  she  could  recall  (or  invent)  in  the 
haste  of  that  agitating  moment. 

"That  one  of  her  eyes  is  larger  than  the  other — no 
human  being  can  doubt"  sobbed  the  lady — "and 
surely  your  Divine  Majesty  cannot  be  aware  that  her 
hair  reaches  but  to  her  waist,  and  that  there  is  a  brown 
mole  on  the  nape  of  her  neck?  When  she  sings  it 
resembles  the  croak  of  the  crow.  It  is  true  that  most 
of  the  Palace  ladies  are  chosen  for  anything  but 
beauty,  yet  she  is  the  most  ill-favoured.  And  is  it 
this — this  bat-faced  lady  who  is  preferred  to  me! 
Would  I  had  never  been  born:  Yet  even  your  Maj 
esty's  own  lips  have  told  me  I  am  fair!" 

The  Yellow  Emperor  supported  the  form  of  the 
Princess  in  his  arms.  There  are  moments  when  even 
a  Son  of  Heaven  is  but  human.  "Fair  as  the  rain 
bow,"  he  murmured,  and  the  Princess  faintly  smiled; 
then  gathering  the  resolution  of  the  Philosopher  he 
added  manfully — "But  the  Lady  A-Kuei  is  incom 
parable.  |And  the  reason  is — " 

The  Lady  Ma  eagerly  stretched  her  head  forward 
with  a  hand  to  either  ear.  But  the  Princess  of  Fern- 


182          THE  INCOMPARABLE  LADY 

inine  Propriety  with  one  shriek  had  swooned  and  in 
the  hurry  of  summoning  attendants  and  causing  her 
to  be  conveyed  to  her  own  apartments  that  precious 
sentence  was  never  completed. 

Still  the  Lady  Ma  grovelled  behind  the  Dragon 
Couch  as  the  Son  of  Heaven,  left  alone,  approached 
the  veranda  and  apostrophizing  the  moon,  mur 
mured — 

"0  loveliest  pale  watcher  of  the  destinies  of  men, 
illuminate  the  beauty  of  the  Lady  A-Kuei,  and  grant 
that  I  who  have  never  seen  that  beauty  may  never  see 
it,  but  remain  its  constant  admirer!"  So  saying,  he 
sought  his  solitary  couch  and  slept,  while  the  Lady 
Ma,  in  a  torment  of  bewilderment,  glided  from  the 
room. 

The  matter  remained  in  suspense  for  several  days. 
The  White  Jade  Concubine  was  the  next  lady  com 
manded  to  the  Dragon  Chamber,  and  again  the  Lady 
Ma  was  in  her  post  of  observation.  Much  she  heard, 
much  she  saw  that  was  not  to  the  point,  but  the  scene 
ended  as  before  by  the  dismissal  of  the  lady  in  tears, 
and  the  departure  of  the  Lady  Ma  in  ignorance  of  the 
secret. 

The  Emperor's  peace  was  ended. 

The  singular  circumstance  was  that  the  Lady  A-Kuei 
was  never  summoned  by  the  Yellow  Emperor.  Ea 
gerly  as  the  Empress  watched,  no  token  of  affection 
for  her  was  ever  visible.  Nothing  could  be  detected. 


THE  INCOMPARABLE  LADY          183 

It  was  inexplicable.  Finally,  devoured  by  curiosity 
that  gave  her  no  respite,  she  resolved  on  a  stratagem 
that  should  dispel  the  mystery,  though  it  carried  with 
it  a  risk  on  which  she  trembled  to  reflect.  It  was  the 
afternoon  of  a  languid  summer  day,  and  the  Yellow 
Emperor,  almost  unattended,  had  come  to  pay  a  visit 
of  filial  respect  to  the  Pearl  Empress.  She  received 
him  with  the  ceremony  due  to  her  sovereign  in  the 
porcelain  pavilion  of  the  Eastern  Gardens,  with  the 
lotos  fish  ponds  before  them,  and  a  faint  breeze  occa 
sionally  tinkling  the  crystal  wind-bells  that  decorated 
the  shrubs  on  the  cloud  and  dragon-wrought  slopes  of 
the  marble  approach.  A  bird  of  brilliant  plumage 
uttered  a  cry  of  reverence  from  its  gold  cage  as  the 
Son  of  Heaven  entered.  As  was  his  occasional  cus 
tom,  and  after  suitable  enquiries  as  to  his  parent's 
health,  the  attendants  were  all  dismissed  out  of  earshot 
and  the  Emperor  leaned  on  his  cushions  and  gazed 
reflectively  into  the  sunshine  outside.  So  had  the 
Court  Artist  represented  him  as  "The  Incarnation  of 
Philosophic  Calm." 

"These  gardens  are  fair,"  said  the  Empress  after 
a  respectful  silence,  moving  her  fan  illustrated  with 
the  emblem  of  Immortality — the  Ho  Bird. 

"Fair  indeed,"  returned  the  Emperor. — "It  might 
be  supposed  that  all  sorrow  and  disturbance  would  be 
shut  without  the  Forbidden  Precincts.  Yet  it  is  not 
so.  And  though  the  figures  of  my  ladies  moving 


184          THE  INCOMPARABLE  LADY 

among  the  flowers  appear  at  this  distance  instinct 
with  joy,  yet — " 

He  was  silent. 

"They  know  not,"  said  the  Empress  with  solemnity 
"that  death  entered  the  Forbidden  Precincts  but  last 
night.  A  disembodied  spirit  has  returned  to  its  place 
and  doubtless  exists  in  bliss." 

"Indeed?"  returned  the  Yellow  Emperor  with  in 
difference — "yet  if  the  spirit  is  absorbed  into  the 
Source  whence  it  came,  and  the  bones  have  crumbled 
into  nothingness,  where  does  the  Ego  exist?  The  dead 
are  venerable,  but  no  longer  of  interest." 

"Not  even  when  they  were  loved  in  life?"  said  the 
Empress,  caressing  the  bird  in  its  cage  with  one  jew 
elled  finger,  but  attentively  observing  her  son  from  the 
corner  of  her  august  eye." 

"They  were;  they  are  not,"  he  remarked  senten- 
tiously  and  stifling  a  yawn;  it  was  a  drowsy  afternoon. 
"But  who  is  it  that  has  abandoned  us.  Surely  not  the 
Lady  Ma — your  Majesty's  faithful  foster-mother?" 

"A  younger,  a  lovelier  spirit  has  sought  the  Yellow 
Springs"  replied  the  trembling  Empress.  "I  regret 
to  inform  your  Majesty  that  a  sudden  convulsion  last 
night  deprived  the  Lady  A-Kuei  of  life.  I  would  not 
permit  the  news  to  reach  you  lest  it  should  break  your 
august  night's  rest." 

There  was  a  silence,  then  the  Emperor  turned  his 
eyes  serenely  upon  his  Imperial  Mother.  "That  the 


THE  INCOMPARABLE  LADY  185 

statement  of  my  august  Parent  is  merely — let  us  say — 
allegoric — does  not  detract  from  its  interest.  But  had 
the  Lady  A-Kuei  in  truth  departed  to  the  Yellow 
Springs  I  should  none  the  less  have  received  the  news 
without  uneasiness.  What  though  the  sun  set — is  not 
the  memory  of  his  light  all-surpassing?" 

No  longer  could  the  Pearl  Empress  endure  the 
excess  of  her  curiosity.  Deeply  kow-towing,  implor 
ing  pardon,  with  raised  hands  and  tears  which  no  son 
dare  neglect,  she  besought  the  Emperor  to  enlighten 
her  as  to  this  mystery,  recounting  his  praises  of  the 
lady  and  his  admission  that  he  had  never  beheld  her, 
and  all  the  circumstances  connected  with  this  remark 
able  episode.  She  omitted  only,  (from  considerations 
of  delicacy  and  others,)  the  vigils  of  the  Lady  Ma  in 
the  Dragon  Chamber.  The  Emperor,  sighing,  looked 
upon  the  ground,  and  for  a  time  was  silent.  Then  he 
replied  as  follows: 

"Willingly  would  I  have  kept  silence,  but  what  child 
dare  withstand  the  plea  of  a  parent?  Is  it  nec 
essary  to  inform  the  Heavenly  Empress  that  beauty 
seen  is  beauty  made  familiar  and  that  familiarity  is 
the  foe  of  admiration?  How  is  it  possible  that  I 
should  see  the  Princess  of  Feminine  Propriety,  for  in 
stance,  by  night  and  day  without  becoming  aware  of 
her  imperfections  as  well  as  her  graces?  How  awake 
in  the  night  without  hearing  the  snoring  of  the  White 
Jade  Concubine  and  considering  the  mouth  from 


186          THE  INCOMPARABLE  LADY 

which  it  issues  as  the  less  lovely.  How  partake  of  the 
society  of  any  woman  without  finding  her  chattering 
as  the  crane,  avid  of  admiration,  jealous,  destructive 
of  philosophy,  fatal  to  composure,  fevered  with  cu 
riosity;  a  creature,  in  short,  a  little  above  the  gibbon, 
but  infinitely  below  the  notice  of  the  sage,  save  as  a 
temporary  measure  of  amusement  in  itself  unworthy 
the  philosopher.  The  faces  of  all  my  ladies  are 
known  to  me.  All  are  fair  and  all  alike.  But  one 
night,  as  I  lay  in  the  Dragon  Couch,  lost  in  specula 
tion,  absorbed  in  contemplation  of  the  Yin  and  the 
Yang,  the  night  passed  for  the  solitary  dreamer  as  a 
dream.  In  the  darkness  of  the  dawn  I  rose  still 
dreaming,  and  departed  to  the  Pearl  Pavilion  in  the 
garden,  and  there  remained  an  hour  viewing  the  sun 
rise  and  experiencing  ineffable  opinions  on  the  destiny 
of  man.  Returning  then  to  a  couch  which  I  believed 
to  have  been  that  of  the  solitary  philosopher  I  ob 
served  a  depression  where  another  form  had  lain,  and 
in  it  a  jade  hairpin  such  as  is  worn  by  my  junior  beau 
ties.  Petrified  with  amazement  at  the  display  of  such 
reserve,  such  continence,  such  august  self-restraint,  I 
perceived  that,  lost  in  my  thoughts,  I  had  had  an  un- 
imagined  companion  and  that  this  gentle  reminder 
was  from  her  gentle  hand.  But  whom?  I  knew  not. 
I  then  observed  Lo  Cheng  the  Court  Artist  in  atten 
dance  and  immediately  despatched  him  to  make  se 
cret  enquiry  and  ascertain  the  name  and  circumstances 


THE  INCOMPARABLE  LADY          187 

of  that  beauty  who,  unknown,  had  shared  my  vigil.  I 
learnt  on  his  return  that  it  was  the  Lady  A-Kuei.  I 
had  entered  the  Dragon  Chamber  in  a  low  moonlight, 
and  guessed  not  her  presence.  She  spoke  no  word. 
Finding  her  Imperial  Master  thus  absorbed,  she  in 
vited  no  attention,  nor  in  any  way  obtruded  her 
beauties  upon  my  notice.  Scarcely  did  she  draw 
breath.  Yet  reflect  upon  what  she  might  have  done! 
The  night  passed  and  I  remained  entirely  unconscious 
of  her  presence,  and  out  of  respect  she  would  not  sleep 
but  remained  reverently  and  modestly  awake,  assist 
ing,  if  it  may  so  be  expressed,  at  a  humble  distance, 
in  the  speculations  which  held  me  prisoner.  What  a 
pearl  was  here!  On  learning  these  details  by  Lo 
Cheng  from  her  own  roseate  lips,  and  remembering 
the  unexampled  temptation  she  had  resisted  (for  well 
she  knew  that  had  she  touched  the  Emperor  the  Phil 
osopher  had  vanished)  I  despatched  an  august  re 
script  to  this  favoured  Lady,  conferring  on  her  the 
degree  of  Incomparable  Beauty  of  the  First  Rank. 
On  condition  of  secrecy." 

The  Pearl  Empress,  still  in  deepest  bewilderment, 
besought  his  majesty  to  proceed.  He  did  so,  with 
his  usual  dignity. 

"Though  my  mind  could  not  wholly  restrain  its  ad 
miration,  yet  secrecy  was  necessary,  for  had  the 
facts  been  known,  every  lady,  from  the  Princess  of 
Feminine  Propriety  to  the  Junior  Beauty  of  the  Bed- 


188          THE  INCOMPARABLE  LADY 

chamber  would  henceforward  have  observed  only 
silence  and  a  frigid  decorum  in  the  Dragon  Bed 
Chamber.  And  though  the  Emperor  be  a  philoso 
pher,  yet  a  philosopher  is  still  a  man,  and  there  are 
moments  when  decorum — 

The  Emperor  paused  discreetly;  then  resumed. 

"The  world  should  not  be  composed  entirely  of 
A-Kueis,  yet  in  my  mind  I  behold  the  Incomparable 
Lady  fair  beyond  expression.  Like  the  moon  she 
sails  glorious  in  the  heavens  to  be  adored  only  in 
vision  as  the  one  woman  who  could  respect  the  ab 
sorption  of  the  Emperor,  and  of  whose  beauty  as  she 
lay  beside  him  the  philosopher  could  remain  un 
conscious  and  therefore  untroubled  in  body.  To  see 
her,  to  find  her  earthly,  would  be  an  experience  for 
which  the  Emperor  might  have  courage,  but  the  phi 
losopher  never.  And  attached  to  all  this  is  a  moral:" 

The  Pearl  Empress  urgently  enquired  its  nature. 

"Let  the  wisdom  of  my  august  parent  discern  it," 
said  the  Emperor  sententiously. 

"And  the  future?"  she  enquired. 

"The — let  us  call  it  parable —  "  said  the  Emperor 
politely—  "with  which  your  Majesty  was  good 
enough  to  entertain  me,  has  suggested  a  precaution  to 
my  mind.  I  see  now  a  lovely  form  moving  among 
the  flowers.  It  is  possible  that  it  may  be  the  Incom 
parable  Lady,  or  that  at  any  moment  I  may  come  upon 
her  and  my  ideal  be  shattered.  This  must  be  safe- 


THE  INCOMPARABLE  LADY  189 

guarded.  I  might  command  her  retirement  to  her 
native  province,  but  who  shall  ensure  me  against  the 
weakness  of  my  own  heart  demanding  her  return. 
No.  Let  Your  Majesty's  words  spoken — well — in 
parable,  be  fulfilled  in  truth.  I  shall  give  orders  to 
the  Chief  Eunuch  that  the  Incomparable  Lady  to-night 
shall  drink  the  Draught  of  Crushed  Pearls,  and  be 
thus  restored  to  the  sphere  that  alone  is  worthy  of  her. 
Thus  are  all  anxieties  soothed,  and  the  honours  offered 
to  her  virtuous  spirit  shall  be  a  glorious  repayment  of 
the  ideal  that  will  ever  illuminate  my  soul." 

The  Empress  was  speechless.  She  had  borne  the 
Emperor  in  her  womb,  but  the  philosopher  outsoared 
her  comprehension.  She  retired,  leaving  his  Majesty 
in  a  reverie,  endeavouring  herself  to  grasp  the  moral 
of  which  he  had  spoken,  for  the  guidance  of  herself 
and  the  ladies  concerned.  But  whether  it  inculcated 
reserve  or  the  reverse  in  the  Dragon  Chamber,  and 
what  the  Imperial  ladies  should  follow  as  an  ex 
ample  she  was,  to  the  end  of  her  life,  totally  unable 
to  say.  Philosophy  indeed  walks  on  the  heights.  We 
cannot  all  expect  to  follow  it. 

That  night  the  Incomparable  Lady  drank  the 
Draught  of  Crushed  Pearls. 

The  Princess  of  Feminine  Propriety  and  the  White 
Jade  Concubine,  learning  these  circumstances,  re 
doubled  their  charms,  their  coquetries  and  their 
efforts  to  occupy  what  may  be  described  as  the  inner 


190          THE  INCOMPARABLE  LADY 

sanctuary  of  the  Emperor's  esteem.  Both  lived  to  a 
green  old  age,  wealthy  and  honoured,  alike  firm  in 
the  conviction  that  if  the  Incomparable  Lady  had  not 
shown  herself  so  superior  to  temptation  the  Emperor 
might  have  been  on  the  whole  better  pleased,  what 
ever  the  sufferings  of  the  philosopher.  Both  lived  to 
be  the  tyrants  of  many  generations  of  beauties  at  the 
Celestial  Court.  Both  were  assiduous  in  their 
devotions  before  the  spirit  tablet  of  the  departed  lady, 
and  in  recommending  her  example  of  reserve  and 
humility  to  every  damsel  whom  it  might  concern. 

It  will  probably  occur  to  the  reader  of  this  unique 
but  veracious  story  that  there  is  more  in  it  than  meets 
the  eye,  and  more  than  the  one  moral  alluded  to  by 
the  Emperor  according  to  the  point  of  view  of  the 
different  actors. 

To  the  discernment  of  the  reader  it  must  accordingly 
be  left. 


THE  HATRED  OF  THE  QUEEN 
A  STORY  OF  BURMA 


THE  HATRED  OF  THE  QUEEN 
A  STORY  OF  BURMA 

MOST  wonderful  is  the  Irawadi,  the  mighty 
river  of  Burma.  In  all  the  world  else 
where  is  no  such  river,  bearing  the  melted 
snows  from  its  mysterious  sources  in  the  high  places 
of  the  mountains.  The  dawn  rises  upon  its  league- 
wide  flood;  the  moon  walks  upon  it  with  silver  feet. 
It  is  the  pulsing  heart  of  the  land,  living  still  though 
so  many  rules  and  rulers  have  risen  and  fallen  beside 
it,  their  pomps  and  glories  drifting  like  flotsam  down 
the  river  to  the  eternal  ocean  that  is  the  end  of  all — 
and  the  beginning.  Dead  civilizations  strew  its 
banks,  dreaming  in  the  torrid  sunshine  of  glories  that 
were — of  blood-stained  gold,  jewels  wept  from  woeful 
crowns,  nightmare  dreams  of  murder  and  terror; 
dreaming  also  of  heavenly  beauty,  for  the  Lord 
Buddha  looks  down  in  moonlight  peace  upon  the  land 
that  leaped  to  kiss  His  footprints,  that  has  laid  its 
heart  in  the  hand  of  the  Blessed  One,  and  shares  there 
fore  in  His  bliss  and  content.  The  Land  of  the  Lord 
Buddha,  where  the  myriad  pagodas  lift  their  golden 
flames  of  worship  everywhere,  and  no  idlest  wind  can 
pass  but  it  ruffles  the  bells  below  the  htees  until  they 

193 


194        THE  HATRED  OF  THE  QUEEN 

send  forth  their  silver  ripple  of  music  to  swell  the 
hymn  of  praise! 

There  is  a  little  bay  on  the  bank  of  the  flooding 
river — a  silent,  deserted  place  of  sand-dunes  and 
small  hills.  When  a  ship  is  in  sight,  some  poor  folk 
come  and  spread  out  the  red  lacquer  that  helps  their 
scanty  subsistence,  and  the  people  from  the  passing 
ship  land  and  barter  and  in  a  few  minutes  are  gone  on 
their  busy  way  and  silence  settles  down  once  more. 
They  neither  know  nor  care  that,  near  by,  a  mighty 
city  spread  its  splendour  for  miles  along  the  river 
bank,  that  the  king  known  as  Lord  of  the  Golden 
Palace,  The  Golden  Foot,  Lord  of  the  White  Elephant, 
held  his  state  there  with  halls  of  magnificence, 
obsequious  women,  fawning  courtiers  and  all  the  riot 
and  colour  of  an  eastern  tyranny.  How  should  they 
care?  Now  there  are  ruins — ruins,  and  the  cobras 
slip  in  and  out  through  the  deserted  holy  places. 
They  breed  their  writhing  young  in  the  sleeping- 
chambers  of  queens,  the  tigers  mew  in  the  moonlight, 
and  the  giant  spider,  more  terrible  than  the  cobra, 
strikes  with  its  black  poison-claw  and,  paralyzing  the 
life  of  the  victim,  sucks  its  brain  with  slow,  lascivious 
pleasure. 

Are  these  foul  creatures  more  dreadful  than  some 
of  the  men,  the  women,  who  dwelt  in  these  palaces — 
the  more  evil  because  of  the  human  brain  that  plotted 


THE  HATRED  OF  THE  QUEEN    195 

and  foresaw?  That  is  known  only  to  the  mysterious 
Law  that  in  silence  watches  and  decrees. 

But  this  is  a  story  of  the  dead  days  of  Pagan,  by 
the  Irawadi,  and  it  will  be  shown  that,  as  the  Lotus 
of  the  Lord  Buddha  grows  up  a  white  splendour  from 
the  black  mud  of  the  depths,  so  also  may  the  soul  of  a 
woman. 

In  the  days  of  the  Lord  of  the  White  Elephant,  the 
King  Pagan  Men,  was  a  boy  named  Mindon,  son  of 
the  second  Queen  and  the  King.  So,  at  least,  it  was 
said  in  the  Golden  Palace,  but  those  who  knew  the 
secrets  of  such  matters  whispered  that,  when  the  King 
had  taken  her  by  the  hand  she  came  to  him  no  maid, 
and  that  the  boy  was  the  son  of  an  Indian  trader. 
Furthermore  it  was  said  that  she  herself  was  woman 
of  the  Rajputs,  knowledgeable  in  spells,  incantations 
and  elemental  spirits  such  as  the  Beloos  that  terribly 
haunt  waste  places,  and  all  Powers  that  move  in  the 
dark,  and  that  thus  she  had  won  the  King.  Certainly 
she  had  been  captured  by  the  King's  war-boats  off  the 
coast,  from  a  trading-ship  bound  for  Ceylon,  and  it 
was  her  story  that,  because  of  her  beauty,  she  was  sent 
thither  to  serve  as  concubine  to  the  King,  Tissa  of 
Ceylon.  Being  captured,  she  was  brought  to  the 
Lord  of  the  Golden  Palace.  The  tongue  she  spoke 
was  strange  to  all  the  fighting  men,  but  it  was 
wondrous  to  see  how  swiftly  she  learnt  theirs  and 


196    THE  HATRED  OF  THE  QUEEN 

spoke  it  with  a  sweet  ripple  such  as  is  in  the  throat  of 
a  bird. 

She  was  beautiful  exceedingly,  with  a  colour  of  pale 
gold  upon  her  and  lengths  of  silk-spun  hair,  and  eyes 
like  those  of  a  jungle-deer,  and  water  might  run 
beneath  the  arch  of  her  foot  without  wetting  it,  and 
her  breasts  were  like  the  cloudy  pillows  where  the  sun 
couches  at  setting. 

Now,  at  Pagan,  the  name  they  called  her  was  Dway- 
menau,  but  her  true  name,  known  only  to  herself,  was 
Sundari,  and  she  knew  not  the  Law  of  the  Blessed 
Buddha  but  was  a  heathen  accursed.  In  the  strong 
hollow  of  her  hand  she  held  the  heart  of  the  King,  so 
that  on  the  birth  of  her  son  she  had  risen  from  a  mere 
concubine  to  be  the  second  Queen  and  a  power  to 
whom  all  bowed.  The  First  Queen,  Maya,  languished 
in  her  palace,  her  pale  beauty  wasting  daily,  deserted 
and  lonely,  for  she  had  been  the  light  of  the  King's 
eyes  until  the  coming  of  the  Indian  woman,  and  she 
loved  her  lord  with  a  great  love  and  was  a  noble 
woman  brought  up  in  honour  and  all  things  becoming 
a  queen.  But  sigh  as  she  would,  the  King  came  never. 
All  night  he  lay  in  the  arms  of  Dwaymenau,  all  day 
he  sat  beside  her,  whether  at  the  great  water  pageants 
or  at  the  festivals  when  the  dancing-girls  swayed  and 
postured  before  him  in  her  gilded  chambers.  Even 
when  he  went  forth  to  hunt  the  tiger,  she  went  with 
him  as  far  as  woman  may  go,  and  then  stood  back 


THE  HATRED  OF  THE  QUEEN    197 

only  because  he  would  not  risk  his  jewel,  her  life.  So 
all  that  was  evil  in  the  man  she  fostered  and  all  that 
was  good  she  cherished  not  at  all,  fearing  lest  he 
should  return  to  the  Queen.  At  her  will  he  had  con 
sulted  the  Hlwot  Daw,  the  Council  of  the  Woon-gyees 
or  Ministers,  concerning  a  divorce  of  the  Queen,  but 
this  they  told  him  could  not  be  since  she  had  kept  all 
the  laws  of  Manu,  being  faithful,  noble  and  beautiful 
and  having  borne  him  a  son. 

For,  before  the  Indian  woman  had  come  to  the  King, 
the  Queen  had  borne  a  son,  Ananda,  and  he  was  pale 
and  slender  and  the  King  despised  him  because  of  the 
wiles  of  Dwaymenau,  saying  he  was  fit  only  to  sit 
among  the  women,  having  the  soul  of  a  slave,  and  he 
laughed  bitterly  as  the  pale  child  crouched  in  the 
corner  to  see  him  pass.  If  his  eyes  had  been  clear,  he 
would  have  known  that  here  was  no  slave,  but  a  heart 
as  much  greater  than  his  own  as  the  spirit  is  stronger 
than  the  body.  But  this  he  did  not  know  and  he 
strode  past  with  Dwaymenau's  boy  on  his  shoulder, 
laughing  with  cruel  glee. 

And  this  boy,  Mindon,  was  beautiful  and  strong  as 
his  mother,  pale  olive  of  face,  with  the  dark  and  crafty 
eyes  of  the  cunning  Indian  traders,  with  black  hair  and 
a  body  straight,  strong  and  long  in  the  leg  for  his 
years — apt  at  the  beginnings  of  bow,  sword  and  spear 
— full  of  promise,  if  the  promise  were  only  words 
and  looks. 


198        THE  HATRED  OF  THE  QUEEN 

And  so  matters  rested  in  the  palace  until  Ananda 
had  ten  years  and  Mindon  nine. 

It  was  the  warm  and  sunny  winter  and  the  days 
were  pleasant,  and  on  a  certain  day  the  Queen,  Maya, 
went  with  her  ladies  to  worship  the  Blessed  One  at  the 
Thapinyu  Temple,  looking  down  upon  the  swiftly 
flowing  river.  The  temple  was  exceedingly  rich  and 
magnificent,  so  gilded  with  pure  gold-leaf  that  it  ap 
peared  of  solid  gold.  And  about  the  upper  part  were 
golden  bells  beneath  the  jewelled  htee,  which  wafted 
very  sweetly  in  the  wind  and  gave  forth  a  crystal-clear 
music.  The  ladies  bore  in  their  hands  more  gold- 
leaf,  that  they  might  acquire  merit  by  offering  this 
for  the  service  of  the  Master  of  the  Law,  and  indeed 
this  temple  was  the  offering  of  the  Queen  herself, 
who,  because  she  bore  the  name  of  the  Mother  of  the 
Lord,  excelled  in  good  works  and  was  the  Moon  of 
this  lower  world  in  charity  and  piety. 

Though  wan  with  grief  and  anxiety,  this  Queen  was 
beautiful.  Her  eyes,  like  mournful  lakes  of  dark 
ness,  were  lovely  in  the  pale  ivory  of  her  face.  Her 
lips  were  nobly  cut  and  calm,  and  by  the  favour  of  the 
Guardian  Nats  she  was  shaped  with  grace  and  health, 
a  worthy  mother  of  kings.  Also  she  wore  her  jewels 
like  a  mighty  princess,  a  magnificence  to  which  all  the 
people  shikoed  as  she  passed,  folding  their  hands  and 
touching  the  forehead  while  they  bowed  down, 
kneeling. 


THE  HATRED  OF  THE  QUEEN    199 

Before  the  colossal  image  of  the  Holy  One  she  made 
her  offering  and,  attended  by  her  women,  she  sat  in 
meditation,  drawing  consolation  from  the  Tranquillity 
above  her  and  the  silence  of  the  shrine.  This  ended, 
the  Queen  rose  and  did  obeisance  to  the  Lord  and,  re 
tiring,  paced  back  beneath  the  White  Canopy  and 
entered  the  courtyard  where  the  palace  stood — a 
palace  of  noble  teakwood,  brown  and  golden  and 
carved  like  lace  into  strange  fantasies  of  spires  and 
pinnacles  and  branches  where  Nats  and  Tree  Spirits 
and  Beloos  and  swaying  river  maidens  mingled  and 
met  amid  fruits  and  leaves  and  flowers  in  a  wild  and 
joyous  confusion.  The  faces,  the  blowing  garments, 
whirled  into  points  with  the  swiftness  of  the  dance, 
were  touched  with  gold,  and  so  glad  was  the  building 
that  it  seemed  as  if  a  very  light  wind  might  whirl  it  to 
the  sky,  and  even  the  sad  Queen  stopped  to  rejoice  in 
its  beauty  as  it  blossomed  in  the  sunlight. 

And  even  as  she  paused,  her  little  son  Ananda 
rushed  to  meet  her,  pale  and  panting,  and  flung  him 
self  into  her  arms  with  dry  sobs  like  those  of  an  over 
run  man.  She  soothed  him  until  he  could  speak,  and 
then  the  grief  made  way  in  a  rain  of  tears. 

"Mindon  has  killed  my  deer.  He  bared  his  knife, 
slit  his  throat  and  cast  him  in  the  ditch  and  there  he 
lies." 

"There  will  he  not  lie  long!"  shouted  Mindon, 
breaking  from  the  palace  to  the  group  where  all  were 


200         THE  HATRED  OF  THE  QUEEN 

silent  now.  "For  the  worms  will  eat  him  and  the  dogs 
pick  clean  his  bones,  and  he  will  show  his  horns  at 
his  lords  no  more.  If  you  loved  him,  White-liver, 
you  should  have  taught  him  better  manners  to  his 
betters." 

With  a  stifled  shriek  Ananda  caught  the  slender 
knife  from  his  girdle  and  flew  at  Mindon  like  a  cat  of 
the  woods.  Such  things  were  done  daily  by  young 
and  old,  and  this  was  a  long  sorrow  come  to  a  head 
between  the  boys. 

Suddenly,  lifting  the  hangings  of  the  palace  gate 
way,  before  them  stood  the  mother  of  Mindon,  the 
Lady  Dwaymenau,  pale  as  wool,  having  heard  the 
shout  of  her  boy,  so  that  the  two  Queens  faced  each 
other,  each  holding  the  shoulders  of  her  son,  and  the 
ladies  watched,  mute  as  fishes,  for  it  was  years  since 
these  two  had  met. 

"What  have  you  done  to  my  son?"  breathed  Maya 
the  Queen,  dry  in  the  throat  and  all  but  speechless  with 
passion.  For  indeed  his  face,  for  a  child,  was 
ghastly. 

"Look  at  his  knife!  What  would  he  do  to  my 
son?"  Dwaymenau  was  stiff  with  hate  and  spoke  as 
to  a  slave. 

"He  has  killed  my  deer  and  mocked  me  because  I 
loved  him.  He  is  the  devil  in  this  place.  Look  at 
the  devils  in  his  eyes.  Look  quick  before  he  smiles, 
my  mother." 


THE  HATRED  OF  THE  QUEEN    201 

And  indeed,  young  as  the  boy  was,  an  evil  thing  sat 
in  either  eye  and  glittered  upon  them.  Dwaymenau 
passed  her  hand  across  his  brow,  and  he  smiled  and 
they  were  gone. 

"The  beast  ran  at  me  and  would  have  flung  me  with 
his  horns,"  he  said,  looking  up  brightly  at  his  mother. 
"He  had  the  madness  upon  him.  I  struck  once  and  he 
was  dead.  My  father  would  have  done  the  same." 

"That  would  he  not!"  said  Queen  Maya  bitterly. 
"Your  father  would  have  crept  up,  fawning  on  the 
deer,  and  offered  him  the  fruits  he  loved,  stroking 
him  the  while.  And  in  trust  the  beast  would  have 
eaten,  and  the  poison  in  the  fruit  would  have  slain 
him.  For  the  people  of  your  father  meet  neither 
man  nor  beast  in  fair  fight.  With  a  kiss  they  stab!" 

Horror  kept  the  women  staring  and  silent.  No 
one  had  dreamed  that  the  scandal  had  reached  the 
Queen.  Never  had  she  spoken  or  looked  her 
knowledge  but  endured  all  in  patience.  Now  it 
sprang  out  like  a  sword  among  them,  and  they  feared 
for  Maya,  whom  all  loved. 

Mindon  did  not  understand.  It  was  beyond  him, 
but  he  saw  he  was  scorned.  Dwaymenau,  her  face 
rigid  as  a  mask,  looked  pitilessly  at  the  shaking 
Queen,  and  each  word  dropped  from  her  mouth,  hard 
and  cold  as  the  falling  of  diamonds.  She  refused 
the  insult. 

"If  it  is  thus  you  speak  of  our  lord  and  my  love, 


202    THE  HATRED  OF  THE  QUEEN 

what  wonder  he  forsakes  you?  Mother  of  a  craven, 
milk  runs  in  your  veins  and  his  for  blood.  Take 
your  slinking  brat  away  and  weep  together!  My  son 
and  I  go  forth  to  meet  the  King  as  he  comes  from 
hunting,  and  to  welcome  him  kingly!" 

She  caught  her  boy  to  her  with  a  magnificent 
gesture;  he  flung  his  little  arm  about  her,  and, 
laughing  loudly  they  went  off  together. 

The  tension  relaxed  a  little  when  they  were  out  of 
sight.  The  women  knew  that,  since  Dwaymenau  had 
refused  to  take  the  Queen's  meaning,  she  would 
certainly  not  carry  her  complaint  to  the  King.  They 
guessed  at  her  reason  for  this  forbearance,  but,  be 
that  as  it  might,  it  was  certain  that  no  other  person 
would  dare  to  tell  him  and  risk  the  fate  that  waits  the 
messenger  of  evil. 

The  eldest  lady  led  away  the  Queen,  now  almost 
tottering  in  the  reaction  of  fear  and  pain.  Oh,  that 
she  had  controlled  her  speech!  Not  for  her  own  sake 
— for  she  had  lost  all  and  the  beggar  can  lose  no  more 
— but  for  the  boy's  sake,  the  unloved  child  that  stood 
between  the  stranger  and  her  hopes.  For  him  she 
had  made  a  terrible  enemy.  Weeping,  the  boy 
followed  her. 

"Take  comfort,  little  son,"  she  said,  drawing  him 
to  her  tenderly.  "The  deer  can  suffer  no  more.  For 
the  tigers,  he  does  not  fear  them.  He  runs  in  green 
woods  now  where  there  is  none  to  hurt.  He  is  up 


THE  HATRED  OF  THE  QUEEN    203 

and  away.  The  Blessed  One  was  once  a  deer  as 
gentle  as  yours." 

But  still  the  child  wept,  and  the  Queen  broke  down 
utterly.  "Oh,  if  life  be  a  dream,  let  us  wake,  let 
us  wake!"  she  sobbed.  "For  evil  things  walk  in  it 
that  cannot  live  in  the  light.  Or  let  us  dream  deeper 
and  forget.  Go,  little  son,  yet  stay — for  who  can 
tell  what  waits  us  when  the  King  comes.  Let  us  meet 
him  here." 

For  she  believed  that  Dwaymenau  would  certainly 
carry  the  tale  of  her  speech  to  the  King,  and,  if  so, 
what  hope  but  death  together? 

That  night,  after  the  feasting,  when  the  girls  were 
dancing  the  dance  of  the  fairies  and  spirits,  in  gold 
dresses,  winged  on  the  legs  and  shoulders,  and  high, 
gold-spired  and  pinnacled  caps,  the  King  missed  the 
little  Prince,  Ananda,  and  asked  why  he  was  absent. 

No  one  answered,  the  women  looking  upon  each 
other,  until  Dwaymenau,  sitting  beside  him,  glimmer 
ing  with  rough  pearls  and  rubies,  spoke  smoothly: 
"Lord,  worshipped  and  beloved,  the  two  boys  quar 
relled  this  day,  and  Ananda's  deer  attacked  our  Min- 
don.  He  had  the  madness  upon  him  and  thrust  with 
his  horns.  But,  Mindon,  your  true  son,  flew  in  upon 
him  and  in  a  great  fight  he  slit  the  beast's  throat  with 
the  knife  you  gave  him.  Did  he  not  well?" 

"Well,"  said  the  King  briefly.  "But  is  there  no 
hurt?  Have  you  searched?  For  he  is  mine." 


204    THE  HATRED  OF  THE  QUEEN 

There  was  arrogance  in  the  last  sentence  and  her 
proud  soul  rebelled,  but  smoothly  as  ever  she  spoke: 
"I  have  searched  and  there  is  not  the  littlest  scratch. 
But  Ananda  is  weeping  because  the  deer  is  dead,  and 
his  mother  is  angry.  What  should  I  do?" 

"Nothing.  Ananda  is  worthless  and  worthless  let 
him  be!  And  for  that  pale  shadow  that  was  once  a 
woman,  let  her  be  forgotten.  And  now,  drink,  my 
Queen!" 

And  Dwaymenau  drank  but  the  drink  was  bitter 
to  her,  for  a  ghost  had  risen  upon  her  that  day.  She 
had  never  dreamed  that  such  a  scandal  had  been 
spoken,  and  it  stunned  her  very  soul  with  fear,  that 
the  Queen  should  know  her  vileness  and  the  cheat  she 
had  put  upon  the  King.  As  pure  maid  he  had  re 
ceived  her,  and  she  knew,  none  better,  what  the  doom 
would  be  if  his  trust  were  broken  and  he  knew  the 
child  not  his.  She  herself  had  seen  this  thing  done 
to  a  concubine  who  had  a  little  offended.  She  was 
thrust  living  in  a  sack  and  this  hung  between  two 
earthen  jars  pierced  with  small  holes,  and  thus  she 
was  set  afloat  on  the  terrible  river.  And  not  till  the 
slow  filling  and  sinking  of  the  jars  was  the  agony 
over  and  the  cries  for  mercy  stilled.  No,  the  Queen's 
speech  was  safe  with  her,  but  was  it  safe  with  the 
Queen?  For  her  silence,  Dwaymenau  must  take 
measures. 

Then  she  put  it  all  aside  and  laughed  and  jested 


THE  HATRED  OF  THE  QUEEN    205 

with  the  King  and  did  indeed  for  a  time  forget,  for 
she  loved  him  for  his  black-browed  beauty  and  his 
courage  and  royalty  and  the  childlike  trust  and  the 
man's  passion  that  mingled  in  him  for  her.  Daily 
and  nightly  such  prayers  as  she  made  to  strange  gods 
were  that  she  might  bear  a  son,  true  son  of  his. 

Next  day,  in  the  noonday  stillness  when  all  slept, 
she  led  her  young  son  by  the  hand  to  her  secret  cham 
ber,  and,  holding  him  upon  her  knees  in  that  rich 
and  golden  place,  she  lifted  his  face  to  hers  and 
stared  into  his  eyes.  And  so  unwavering  was  her 
gaze,  so  mighty  the  hard,  unblinking  stare  that  his 
own  was  held  against  it,  and  he  stared  back  as  the 
earth  stares  breathless  at  the  moon.  Gradually  the 
terror  faded  out  of  his  eyes;  they  glazed  as  if  in  a 
trance;  his  head  fell  stupidly  against  her  bosom;  his 
spirit  stood  on  the  borderland  of  being  and  waited. 

Seeing  this,  she  took  his  palm  and,  molding  it  like 
wax,  into  the  cup  of  it  she  dropped  clear  fluid  from 
a  small  vessel  of  pottery  with  the  fylfot  upon  its 
side  and  the  disks  of  the  god  Shiva.  And  strange  it 
was  to  see  that  lore  of  India  in  the  palace  where  the 
Blessed  Law  reigned  in  peace.  Then,  fixing  her  eyes 
with  power  upon  Mindon,  she  bade  him,  a  pure 
child,  see  for  her  in  its  clearness. 

"Only  virgin-pure  can  see!"  she  muttered,  staring 
into  his  eyes.  "See!  See!" 

The    eyes    of    Mindon    were    closing.     He    half 


206    THE  HATRED  OF  THE  QUEEN 

opened  them  and  looked  dully  at  his  palm.  His  face 
was  pinched  and  yellow. 

"A  woman — a  child,  on  a  long  couch.  Dead! 
I  see!" 

"See  her  face.  Is  her  head  crowned  with  the 
Queen's  jewels?  See!" 

"Jewels.     I  cannot  see  her  face.     It  is  hidden." 

"Why  is  it  hidden?" 

"A  robe  across  her  face.     Oh,  let  me  go!" 

"And  the  child?     See!" 

"Let  me  go.  Stop — my  head — my  head!  I  can 
not  see.  The  child  is  hidden.  Her  arm  holds  it. 
A  woman  stoops  above  them." 

"A  woman?  Who?  Is  it  like  me?  Speak! 
See!" 

"A  woman.  It  is  like  you,  mother — it  is  like  you. 
I  fear  very  greatly.  A  knife — a  knife!  Blood! 
I  cannot  see — I  cannot  speak!  I — I  sleep." 

His  face  was  ghastly  white  now,  his  body  cold  and 
collapsed.  Terrified,  she  caught  him  to  her  breast 
and  relaxed  the  power  of  her  will  upon  him.  For 
that  moment,  she  was  only  the  passionate  mother  and 
quaked  to  think  she  might  have  hurt  him.  An  hour 
passed  and  he  slept  heavily  in  her  arms,  and  in  agony 
she  watched  to  see  the  colour  steal  back  into  the  olive 
cheek  and  white  lips.  In  the  second  hour  he  waked 
and  stretched  himself  indolently,  yawning  like  a  cat. 


THE  HATRED  OF  THE  QUEEN    207 

Her  tears  dropped  like  rain  upon  him  as  she  clasped 
him  violently  to  her. 

He  writhed  himself  free,  petulant  and  spoilt. 
"Let  me  be.  I  hate  kisses  and  women's  tricks.  I 
want  to  go  forth  and  play.  I  have  had  a  devil's 
dream." 

"What  did  you  see  in  your  dream,  prince  of  my 
heart?"  She  caught  frantically  at  the  last  chance. 

"A  deer — a  tiger.     I  have  forgotten.     Let  me  go." 

He  ran  off  and  she  sat  alone  with  her  doubts  and 
fears.  Yet  triumph  coloured  them  too.  She  saw  a 
dead  woman,  a  dead  child,  and  herself  bending  above 
them.  She  hid  the  vessel  in  her  bosom  and  went  out 
among  her  women. 

Weeks  passed,  and  never  a  word  that  she  dreaded 
from  Maya  the.  Queen.  The  women  of  Dway- 
menau,  questioning  the  Queen's  women,  heard  that 
she  seemed  to  have  heavy  sorrow  upon  her.  Her 
eyes  were  like  dying  lamps  and  she  faded  as  they. 
The  King  never  entered  her  palace.  Drowned  in 
Dwaymenau's  wiles  and  beauty,  her  slave,  her  thrall, 
he  forgot  all  else  but  his  fighting,  his  hunting  and 
his  long  war-boats,  and  whether  the  Queen  lived  or 
died,  he  cared  nothing.  Better  indeed  she  should  die 
and  her  place  be  emptied  for  the  beloved,  without 
offence  to  her  powerful  kindred. 

And  now  he  was  to  sail  upon  a  raid  against  the 


208   THE  HATRED  OF  THE  QUEEN 

Shan  Tsaubwa,  who  had  denied  him  tribute  of  gold 
and  jewels  and  slaves.  Glorious  were  the  boats  pre 
pared  for  war,  of  brown  teak  and  gilded  until  they 
shone  like  gold.  Seventy  men  rowed  them,  sword 
and  lance  beside  each.  Warriors  crowded  them, 
flags  and  banners  fluttered  about  them;  the  shining 
water  reflected  the  pomp  like  a  mirror  and  the  air 
rang  with  song.  Dwaymenau  stood  beside  the 
water  with  her  women,  bidding  the  King  farewell, 
and  so  he  saw  her,  radiant  in  the  dawn,  with  her  boy 
beside  her,  and  waved  his  hand  to  the  last. 

The  ships  were  gone  and  the  days  languished  a 
little  at  Pagan.  They  missed  the  laughter  and  roy 
alty  of  the  King,  and  few  men,  and  those  old  and 
weak,  were  left  in  the  city.  The  pulse  of  life  beat 
slower. 

And  Dwaymenau  took  rule  in  the  Golden  Palace. 
Queen  Maya  sat  like  one  in  a  dream  and  questioned 
nothing,  and  Dwaymenau  ruled  with  wisdom  but 
none  loved  her.  To  all  she  was  the  interloper,  the 
witchwoman,  the  outland  upstart.  Only  the  fear  of 
the  King  guarded  her  and  her  boy,  but  that  was 
strong.  The  boys  played  together  sometimes,  Min- 
don  tyrannizing  and  cruel,  Ananda  fearing  and  com 
plying,  broken  in  spirit. 

Maya  the  Queen  walked  daily  in  the  long  and 
empty  Golden  Hall  of  Audience,  where  none  came 
now  that  the  King  was  gone,  pacing  up  and  down, 


THE  HATRED  OF  THE  QUEEN    209 

gazing  wearily  at  the  carved  screens  and  all  their 
woodland  beauty  of  gods  that  did  not  hear,  of  happy 
spirits  that  had  no  pity.  Like  a  spirit  herself  she 
passed  between  the  red  pillars,  appearing  and  re 
appearing  with  steps  that  made  no  sound,  consumed 
with  hate  of  the  evil  woman  that  had  stolen  her  joy. 
Like  a  slow  fire  it  burned  in  her  soul,  and  the  face  of 
the  Blessed  One  was  hidden  from  her,  and  she  had 
forgotten  His  peace.  In  that  atmosphere  of  hate 
her  life  dwindled.  Her  son's  dwindled  also,  and 
there  was  talk  among  the  women  of  some  potion  that 
Dwaymenau  had  been  seen  to  drop  into  his  noontide 
drink  as  she  went  swiftly  by.  That  might  be  the 
gossip  of  malice,  but  he  pined.  His  eyes  were  large 
like  a  young  bird's;  his  hands  like  little  claws.  They 
thought  the  departing  year  would  take  him  with  it. 
What  harm?  Very  certainly  the  King  would  shed 
no  tear. 

It  was  a  sweet  and  silent  afternoon  and  she  wan 
dered  in  the  great  and  lonely  hall,  sickened  with  the 
hate  in  her  soul  and  her  fear  for  her  boy.  Suddenly 
she  heard  flying  footsteps — a  boy's,  running  in  mad 
haste  in  the  outer  hall,  and,  following  them,  bare 
feet,  soft,  thudding. 

She  stopped  dead  and  every  pulse  cried — Danger! 

No  time  to  think  or  breathe  when  Mindon  burst  in 
to  sight,  wild  with  terror  and  following  close  beside 
him  a  man — a  madman,  a  short  bright  dah  in  his 


210        THE  HATRED  OF  THE  QUEEN 

grasp,  his  jaws  grinding  foam,  his  wild  eyes  starting 
— one  passion  to  murder.  So  sometimes  from  the 
Nats  comes  pitiless  fury,  and  men  run  mad  and  kill 
and  none  knows  why. 

Maya  the  Queen  stiffened  to  meet  the  danger. 
Joy  swept  through  her  soul;  her  weariness  was  gone. 
A  fierce  smile  showed  her  teeth — a  smile  of  hate,  as 
she  stood  there  and  drew  her  dagger  for  defense. 
For  defense — the  man  would  rend  the  boy  and  turn 
on  her  and  she  would  not  die.  She  would  live  to 
triumph  that  the  mongrel  was  dead,  and  her  son,  the 
Prince  again  and  his  father's  joy — for  his  heart 
would  turn  to  the  child  most  surely.  Justice  was 
rushing  on  its  victim.  She  would  see  it  and  live 
content,  the  long  years  of  agony  wiped  out  in  blood, 
as  was  fitting.  She  would  not  flee;  she  would  see  it 
and  rejoice.  And  as  she  stood  in  gladness — these 
broken  thoughts  rushing  through  her  like  flashes  of 
lightning — Mindon  saw  her  by  the  pillaf  and,  scream 
ing  in  anguish  for  the  first  time,  fled  to  her  for 
refuge. 

She  raised  her  knife  to  meet  the  staring  eyes,  the 
chalk  white  face,  and  drive  him  back  on  the  murderer. 
If  the  man  failed,  she  would  not!  And  even  as  she 
did  this,  a  strange  thing  befell.  Something  stronger 
than  hate  swept  her  away  like  a  leaf  on  the  river; 
something  primeval  that  lives  in  the  lonely  pangs 
of  childbirth,  that  hides  in  the  womb  and  breasts  of 


THE  HATRED  OF  THE  QUEEN   211 

the  mother.  It  was  stronger  than  she.  It  was  not 
the  hated  Mindon — she  saw  him  no  more.  Suddenly 
it  was  the  eternal  Child,  lifting  dying,  appealing 
eyes  to  the  Woman,  as  he  clung  to  her  knees.  She 
did  not  think  this — she  felt  it,  and  it  dominated  her 
utterly.  The  Woman  answered.  As  if  it  had  been 
her  own  flesh  and  blood,  she  swept  the  panting  body 
behind  her  and  faced  the  man  with  uplifted  dagger 
and  knew  her  victory  assured,  whether  in  life  or 
death.  On  came  the  horrible  rush,  the  flaming  eyes, 
and,  if  it  was  chance  that  set  the  dagger  against  his 
throat,  it  was  cool  strength  that  drove  it  home  and 
never  wavered  until  the  blood  welling  from  the 
throat  quenched  the  flame  in  the  wild  eyes,  and  she 
stood  triumphing  like  a  war-goddess,  with  the  man 
at  her  feet.  Then,  strong  and  flushed,  Maya  the 
Queen  gathered  the  half -dead  boy  in  her  arms,  and, 
both  drenched  with  blood,  they  moved  slowly  down 
the  hall  and  outside  met  the  hurrying  crowd,  with 
Dwaymenau,  whom  the  scream  had  brought  to  find 
her  son. 

"You  have  killed  him!  She  has  killed  him!" 
Scarcely  could  the  Rajput  woman  speak.  She  was 
kneeling  beside  him — he  hideous  with  blood.  "She 
hated  him  always.  She  has  murdered  him.  Seize 
her!" 

"Woman,  what  matter  your  hates  and  mine?"  the 
Queen  said  slowly.  "The  boy  is  stark  with  fear. 


212   THE  HATRED  OF  THE  QUEEN 

Carry  him  in  and  send  for  old  Meh  Shway  Gon. 
Woman,  be  silent!" 

When  a  Queen  commands,  men  and  women  obey, 
and  a  Queen  commanded  then.  A  huddled  group 
lifted  the  child  and  carried  him  away,  Dwaymenau 
with  them,  still  uttering  wild  threats,  and  the  Queen 
was  left  alone. 

She  could  not  realize  what  she  had  done  and  left 
undone.  She  could  not  understand  it.  She  had 
hated,  sickened  with  loathing,  as  it  seemed  for  ages, 
and  now,  in  a  moment  it  had  blown  away  like  a  whirl 
wind  that  is  gone.  Hate  was  washed  out  of  her  soul 
and  had  left  it  cool  and  white  as  the  Lotus  of  the 
Blessed  One.  What  power  had  Dwaymenau  to  hurt 
her  when  that  other  Power  walked  beside  her?  She 
seemed  to  float  above  her  in  high  air  and  look  down 
upon  her  with  compassion.  Strength,  virtue  flowed 
in  her  veins;  weakness,  fear  were  fantasies.  She 
could  not  understand,  but  knew  that  here  was  perfect 
enlightment.  About  her  echoed  the  words  of  the 
Blessed  One:  "Never  in  this  world  doth  hatred  cease 
by  hatred,  but  only  by  love.  This  is  an  old  rule." 

"Whereas  I  was  blind,  now  I  see,"  said  Maya  the 
Queen  slowly  to  her  own  heart.  She  had  grasped 
the  hems  of  the  Mighty. 

Words  cannot  speak  the  still  passion  of  strength 
and  joy  that  possessed  her.  Her  step  was  light.  As 
she  walked,  her  soul  sang  within  her,  for  thus  it  is  with 


THE  HATRED  OF  THE  QUEEN    213 

those  that  have  received  the  Law.  About  them  is  the 
Peace. 

In  the  dawn  she  was  told  that  the  Queen,  Dway- 
menau,  would  speak  with  her,  and  without  a  tremor 
she  who  had  shaken  like  a  leaf  at  that  name  com 
manded  that  she  should  enter.  It  was  Dwaymenau 
that  trembled  as  she  came  into  that  unknown  place. 

With  cloudy  brows  and  eyes  that  would  reveal  no 
secret,  she  stood  before  the  high  seat  where  the  Queen 
sat  pale  and  majestic. 

"Is  it  well  with  the  boy?"  the  Queen  asked  ear 
nestly. 

"Well,"  said  Dwaymeneau,  fingering  the  silver 
bosses  of  her  girdle. 

"Then — is  there  more  to  say?"  The  tone  was  that 
of  the  great  lady  who  courteously  ends  an  audience. 

"There  is  more.  The  men  brought  in  the  body  and 
in  its  throat  your  dagger  was  sticking.  And  my  son 
has  told  me  that  your  body  was  a  shield  to  him.  You 
offered  your  life  for  his.  I  did  not  think  to  thank 
you — but  I  thank  you."  She  ended  abruptly  and 
still  her  eyes  had  never  met  the  Queen's. 

"I  accept  your  thanks.  Yet  a  mother  could  do  no 
less." 

The  tone  was  one  of  dismissal  but  still  Dwaymenau 
lingered. 

"The  dagger,"  she  said  and  drew  it  from  her 
bosom.  On  the  clear,  pointed  blade  the  blood 


214   THE  HATRED  OF  THE  QUEEN 

had  curdled  and  dried.  "I  never  thought  to  ask  a 
gift  of  you,  but  this  dagger  is  a  memorial  of  my  son's 
danger.  May  I  keep  it?" 

"As  you  will.  Here  is  the  sheath."  From  her 
girdle  she  drew  it — rough  silver,  encrusted  with 
rubies  from  the  mountains. 

The  hand  rejected  it. 

"Jewels  I  cannot  take,  but  bare  steel  is  a  fitting 
gift  between  us  two." 

"As  you  will." 

The  Queen  spoke  compassionately,  and  Dway- 
menau,  still  with  veiled  eyes,  was  gone  without  fare 
well.  The  empty  sheath  lay  on  the  seat — a  symbol 
of  the  sharp-edged  hate  that  had  passed  out  of  her 
life.  She  touched  the  sheath  to  her  lips  and,  smiling, 
laid  it  away. 

And  the  days  went  by  and  Dwaymenau  came  no 
more  before  her,  and  her  days  were  fulfilled  with 
peace.  And  now  again  the  Queen  ruled  in  the  palace 
wisely  and  like  a  Queen,  and  this  Dwaymenau  did 
not  dispute,  but  what  her  thoughts  were  no  man  could 
tell. 

Then  came  the  end. 

One  night  the  city  awakened  to  a  wild  alarm.  A 
terrible  fleet  of  war-boats  came  sweeping  along  the 
river  thick  as  locusts — the  war  fleet  of  the  Lord  of 
Prome.  Battle  shouts  broke  the  peace  of  the  night 
to  horror;  axes  battered  on  the  outer  doors;  the  roofs 


THE  HATRED  OF  THE  QUEEN    215 

of  the  outer  buildings  were  all  aflame.  It  was  no 
wonderful  incident,  but  a  common  one  enough  of 
those  turbulent  days — reprisal  by  a  powerful  ruler 
with  raids  and  hates  to  avenge  on  the  Lord  of  the 
Golden  Palace.  It  was  indeed  a  right  to  be  gain 
said  only  by  the  strong  arm,  and  the  strong  arm  was 
absent;  as  for  the  men  of  Pagan,  if  the  guard  failed 
and  the  women's  courage  sank,  they  would  return  to 
blackened  walls,  empty  chambers  and  desolation. 

At  Pagan  the  guard  was  small,  indeed,  for  the 
King's  greed  of  plunder  had  taken  almost  every  able 
man  with  him.  Still,  those  who  were  left  did  what 
they  could,  and  the  women,  alert  and  brave,  with  but 
few  exceptions,  gathered  the  children  and  handed 
such  weapons  as  they  could  muster  to  the  men,  and 
themselves,  taking  knives  and  daggers,  helped  to  de 
fend  the  inner  rooms. 

In  the  farthest,  the  Queen,  having  given  her  com 
mands  and  encouraged  all  with  brave  words,  like  a 
wise,  prudent  princess,  sat  with  her  son  beside  her. 
Her  duty  was  now  to  him.  Loved  or  unloved,  he  was 
still  the  heir,  the  root  of  the  House  tree.  If  all 
failed,  she  must  make  ransom  and  terms  for  him, 
and,  if  they  died,  it  must  be  together.  He,  with 
sparkling  eyes,  gay  in  the  danger,  stood  by  her. 
Thus  Dwaymenau  found  them. 

She  entered  quietly  and  without  any  display  of 
emotion  and  stood  before  the  high  seat. 


216   THE  HATRED  OF  THE  QUEEN 

"Great  Queen" — she  used  that  title  for  the  first 
time — "the  leader  is  Meng  Kyinyo  of  Prome.  There 
is  no  mercy.  The  end  is  near.  Our  men  fall  fast, 
the  women  are  fleeing.  I  have  come  to  say  this 
thing:  Save  the  Prince." 

"And  how?"  asked  the  Queen,  still  seated.  "I 
have  no  power." 

"I  have  sent  to  Maung  Tin,  abbot  of  the  Golden 
Monastery,  and  he  has  said  this  thing.  In  the 
Kyoung  across  the  river  he  can  hide  one  child  among 
the  novices.  Cut  his  hair  swiftly  and  put  upon  him 
this  yellow  robe.  The  time  is  measured  in  minutes." 

Then  the  Queen  perceived,  standing  by  the  pillar, 
a  monk  of  a  stern,  dark  presence,  the  creature  of 
Dwaymenau.  For  an  instant  she  pondered.  Was 
the  woman  selling  the  child  to  death?  Dwaymenau 
spoke  no  word.  Her  face  was  a  mask.  A  minute 
that  seemed  an  hour  drifted  by,  and  the  yelling  and 
shrieks  for  mercy  drew  nearer. 

"There  will  be  pursuit,"  said  the  Queen.  "They 
will  slay  him  on  the  river.  Better  here  with  me." 

"There  will  be  no  pursuit."  Dwaymenau  fixed 
her  strange  eyes  on  the  Queen  for  the  first  time. 

What  moved  in  those  eyes?  The  Queen  could  not 
tell.  But  despairing,  she  rose  and  went  to  the  silent 
monk,  leading  the  Prince  by  the  hand.  Swiftly  he 
stripped  the  child  of  the  silk  pasoh  of  royalty, 
swiftly  he  cut  the  long  black  tresses  knotted  on  the 


THE  HATRED  OF  THE  QUEEN    217 

little  head,  and  upon  the  slender  golden  body  he  set 
the  yellow  robe  worn  by  the  Lord  Himself  on  earth, 
and  in  the  small  hand  he  placed  the  begging-bowl  of 
the  Lord.  And  now,  remote  and  holy,  in  the  dress 
that  is  of  all  most  sacred,  the  Prince,  standing  by  the 
monk,  turned  to  his  mother  and  looked  with  grave 
eyes  upon  her,  as  the  child  Buddha  looked  upon  his 
Mother — also  a  Queen.  But  Dwaymenau  stood  by 
silent  and  lent  no  help  as  the  Queen  folded  the  Prince 
in  her  arms  and  laid  his  hand  in  the  hand  of  the 
monk  and  saw  them  pass  away  among  the  pillars, 
she  standing  still  and  white. 

She  turned  to  her  rival.  "If  you  have  meant  truly, 
I  thank  you." 

"I  have  meant  truly." 

She  turned  to  go,  but  the  Queen  caught  her  by  the 
hand. 

"Why  have  you  done  this?"  she  asked,  looking 
into  the  strange  eyes  of  the  strange  woman. 

Something  like  tears  gathered  in  them  for  a  mo 
ment,  but  she  brushed  them  away  as  she  said 
hurriedly: 

"I  was  grateful.  You  saved  my  son.  Is  it  not 
enough?" 

"No,  not  enough!"  cried  the  Queen.  "There  is 
more.  Tell  me,  for  death  is  upon  us." 

"His  footsteps  are  near,"  said  the  Indian.  "I 
will  speak.  I  love  my  lord.  In  death  I  will  not 


218    THE  HATRED  OF  THE  QUEEN 

cheat  him.  What  you  have  known  is  true.  My 
child  is  no  child  of  his.  I  will  not  go  down  to  death 
with  a  lie  upon  my  lips.  Come  and  see." 

Dwaymenau  was  no  more.  Sundari,  the  Indian 
woman,  awful  and  calm,  led  the  Queen  down  the  long 
hall  and  into  her  own  chamber,  where  Mindon,  the 
child,  slept  a  drugged  sleep.  The  Queen  felt  that  she 
had  never  known  her;  she  herself  seemed  diminished 
in  stature  as  she  followd  the  stately  figure,  with  its 
still,  dark  face.  Into  this  room  the  enemy  were 
breaking,  shouldering  their  way  at  the  door — a  rabble 
of  terrible  faces.  Their  fury  was  partly  checked 
when  only  a  sleeping  child  and  two  women  confronted 
them,  but  their  leader,  a  grim  and  evil-looking  man, 
strode  from  the  huddle. 

"Where  is  the  son  of  the  King?"  he  shouted. 
"Speak,  women!  Whose  is  this  boy?" 

Sundari  laid  her  hand  upon  her  son's  shoulder. 
Not  a  muscle  of  her  face  flickered. 

"This  is  his  son." 

"His  true  son — the  son  of  Maya  the  Queen?" 

"His  true  son,  the  son  of  Maya  the  Queen." 

"Not  the  younger — the  mongrel?" 

"The  younger — the  mongrel  died  last  week  of  a 
fever." 

Every  moment  of  delay  was  precious.  Her  eyes 
saw  only  a  monk  and  a  boy  fleeing  across  the  wide 
river. 


THE  HATRED  OF  THE  QUEEN    219 

"Which  is  Maya  the  Queen?" 

"This,"  said  Sundari.  "She  cannot  speak.  It  is 
her  son — the  Prince." 

Maya  had  veiled  her  face  with  her  hands.  Her 
brain  swam,  but  she  understood  the  noble  lie.  This 
woman  could  love.  Their  lord  would  not  be  left 
childless.  Thought  beat  like  pulses  in  her — raced 
along  her  veins.  She  held  her  breath  and  was  dumb. 

His  doubt  was  assuaged  and  the  lust  of  vengeance 
was  on  him — a  madness  seized  the  man.  But  even 
his  own  wild  men  shrank  back  a  moment,  for  to  slay 
a  sleeping  child  in  cold  blood  is  no  man's  work. 

"You  swear  it  is  the  Prince.  But  why?  Why  do 
you  not  lie  to  save  him  if  you  are  the  King's  woman?" 

"Because  his  mother  has  trampled  me  to  the  earth. 
I  am  the  Indian  woman — the  mother  of  the  younger, 
who  is  dead  and  safe.  She  jeered  at  me — she  mocked 
me.  It  is  time  I  should  see  her  suffer.  Suffer  now 
as  I  have  suffered,  Maya  the  Queen!" 

This  was  reasonable — this  was  like  the  women  he 
had  known.  His  doubt  was  gone — he  laughed  aloud. 

"Then  feed  full  of  vengeance!"  he  cried,  and  drove 
his  knife  through  the  child's  heart. 

For  a  moment  Sundari  wavered  where  she  stood, 
but  she  held  herself  and  was  rigid  as  the  dead. 

*'Tha-du!  Well  done!"  she  said  with  an  awful 
smile.  "The  tree  is  broken,  the  roots  cut.  And  now 
for  us  women — our  fate,  0  master?" 


220   THE  HATRED  OF  THE  QUEEN 

"Wait  here,"  he  answered.  "Let  not  a  hair  of  their 
heads  be  touched.  Both  are  fair.  The  two  for  me. 
For  the  rest  draw  lots  when  all  is  done." 

The  uproar  surged  away.  The  two  stood  by  the 
dead  boy.  So  swift  had  been  his  death  that  he  lay  as 
though  he  still  slept — the  black  lashes  pressed  upon 
his  cheek. 

With  the  heredity  of  their  different  races  upon 
them,  neither  wept.  But  silently  the  Queen  opened 
her  arms;  wide  as  a  woman  that  entreats  she  opened 
them  to  the  Indian  Queen,  and  speechlessly  the  two 
clung  together.  For  a  while  neither  spoke. 

"My  sister!"  said  Maya  the  Queen.  And  again, 
"0  great  of  heart!" 

She  laid  her  cheek  against  Sundari's,  and  a  wave 
of  solemn  joy  seemed  to  break  in  her  soul  and  flood  it 
with  life  and  light. 

"Had  I  known  sooner!"  she  said.  "For  now  the 
night  draws  on." 

"What  is  time?"  answered  the  Rajput  woman. 
"We  stand  before  the  Lords  of  Life  and  Death.  The 
life  you  gave  was  yours,  and  I  am  unworthy  to  kiss  the 
feet  of  the  Queen.  Our  lord  will  return  and  his  son 
is  saved.  The  House  can  be  rebuilt.  My  son  and  I 
were  waifs  washed  up  from  the  sea.  Another  wave 
washes  us  back  into  nothingness.  Tell  him  my  story 
and  he  will  loathe  me." 

"My  lips  are  shut,"  said  the  Queen.     "Should  I 


THE  HATRED  OF  THE  QUEEN    221 

betray  my  sister's  honour?  When  he  speaks  of  the 
noble  women  of  old,  your  name  will  be  among  them. 
What  matter  which  of  us  he  loves  and  remembers? 
Your  soul  and  mine  have  seen  the  same  thing,  and  we 
are  one.  But  I — what  have  I  to  do  with  life?  The 
ship  and  the  bed  of  the  conqueror  await  us.  Should 
we  await  them,  my  sister?" 

The  bright  tears  glittered  in  the  eyes  of  Sundari  at 
the  tender  name  and  the  love  in  the  face  of  the  Queen. 
At  last  she  accepted  it. 

"My  sister,  no,"  she  said,  and  drew  from  her  bosom 
the  dagger  of  Maya,  with  the  man's  blood  rusted  upon 
it.  "Here  is  the  way.  I  have  kept  this  dagger  in 
token  of  my  debt.  Nightly  have  I  kissed  it,  swearing 
that,  when  the  time  came,  I  would  repay  my  debt  to 
the  great  Queen.  Shall  I  go  first  or  follow,  my 
sister?" 

Her  voice  lingered  on  the  word.  It  was  precious 
to  her.  It  was  like  clear  water,  laving  away  the  stain 
of  the  shameful  years. 

"Your  arm  is  strong,"  answered  the  Queen.  "I 
go  first.  Because  the  King's  son  is  safe,  I  bless  you. 
For  your  love  of  the  King,  I  love  you.  And  here, 
standing  on  the  verge  of  life,  I  testify  that  the  words 
of  the  Blessed  One  are  truth — that  love  is  All;  that 
hatred  is  Nothing." 

She  bared  the  breast  that  this  woman  had  made 
desolate — that,  with  the  love  of  this  woman,  was 


222        THE  HATRED  OF  THE  QUEEN 

desolate  no  longer,  and,  stooping,  laid  her  hand  on 
the  brow  of  Mindon.  Once  more  they  embraced,  and 
then,  strong  and  true,  and  with  the  Rajput  passion 
behind  the  blow,  the  stroke  fell  and  Sundari  had  given 
her  sister  the  crowning  mercy  of  deliverance.  She 
laid  the  body  beside  her  own  son,  composing  the 
stately  limbs,  the  quiet  eyelids,  the  black  lengths  of 
hair  into  majesty.  So,  she  thought,  in  the  great 
temple  of  the  Rajput  race,  the  Mother  Goddess  shed 
silence  and  awe  upon  her  worshippers.  The  two  lay 
like  mother  and  son — one  slight  hand  of  the  Queen 
she  laid  across  the  little  body  as  if  to  guard  it. 

Her  work  done,  she  turned  to  the  entrance  and 
watched  the  dawn  coming  glorious  over  the  river, 
The  men  shouted  and  quarreled  in  the  distance,  but 
she  heeded  them  no  more  than  the  chattering  of  apes. 
Her  heart  was  away  over  the  distance  to  the  King,  but 
with  no  passion  now:  so  might  a  mother  have  thought 
of  her  son.  He  was  sleeping,  forgetful  of  even  her 
in  his  dreams.  What  matter?  She  was  glad  at 
heart.  The  Queen  was  dearer  to  her  than  the  King 
— so  strange  is  life;  so  healing  is  death.  She 
remembered  without  surprise  that  she  had  asked  no 
forgiveness  of  the  Queen  for  all  the  cruel  wrongs, 
for  the  deadly  intent — had  made  no  confession. 
Again  what  matter?  What  is  forgiveness  when  love 
is  all? 

She  turned  from  the  dawn-light  to  the  light  in  the 


THE  HATRED  OF  THE  QUEEN    223 

face  of  the  Queen.  It  was  well.  Led  by  such  a 
hand,  she  could  present  herself  without  fear  before 
the  Lords  of  Life  and  Death — she  and  the  child.  She 
smiled.  Life  is  good,  but  death,  which  is  more  life, 
is  better.  The  son  of  the  King  was  safe,  but  her  own 
son  safer. 

When  the  conqueror  re-entered  the  chamber,  he 
found  the  dead  Queen  guarding  the  dead  child,  and 
across  her  feet,  as  not  worthy  to  lie  beside  her,  was  the 
body  of  the  Indian  woman,  most  beautiful  in  death. 


FIRE  OF  BEAUTY 


FIRE  OF  BEAUTY 

(Salutation  to  Ganesa  the  Lord  of  Wisdom,  and  to 
Saraswate  the  Lady  of  Sweet  Speech!) 

This  story  was  composed  by  the  Brahmin  Visravas, 
that  dweller  on  the  banks  of  holy  Kashi;  and  though 
the  events  it  records  are  long  past,  yet  it  is  absolutely 
and  immutably  true  because,  by  the  power  of  his 
yoga,  he  summoned  up  every  scene  before  him,  and 
beheld  the  persons  moving  and  speaking  as  in  life. 
Thus  he  had  nought  to  do  but  to  set  down  what  befell. 

What  follows,  that  hath  he  seen. 

I 

WIDE  was  the  plain,  the  morning  sun  shin 
ing  full  upon  it,  drinking  up  the  dew  as 
the  Divine  drinks  up  the  spirit  of  man. 
Far  it  stretched,  resembling  the  ocean,  and  riding  up 
on  it  like  a  stately  ship  was  the  league-long  Rock  of 
Chitor.     It  is  certainly  by  the  favour  of  the  Gods  that 
this  great  fortress  of  the  Rajput  Kings  thus  rises  from 
the  plain,  leagues  in  length,  noble  in  height;  and  very 
strange  it  is  to  see  the  flat  earth  fall  away  from  it  like 

227 


228  FIRE  OF  BEAUTY 

waters  from  the  bows  of  a  boat,  as  it  soars  into  the 
sky  with  its  burden  of  palaces  and  towers. 

Here  dwelt  the  Queen  Padmini  and  her  husband 
Bhimsi,  the  Rana  of  the  Rajputs. 

The  sight  of  the  holy  ascetic  Visravas  pierced  even 
the  secrets  of  the  Rani's  bower,  where,  in  the  inmost 
chamber  of  marble,  carved  until  it  appeared  like  lace 
of  the  foam  of  the  sea,  she  was  seated  upon  cushions 
of  blue  Bokhariot  silk,  like  the  lotus  whose  name  she 
bore  floating  upon  the  blue  depths  of  the  lake.  She 
had  just  risen  from  the  shallow  bath  of  marble  at  her 
feet. 

Most  beautiful  was  this  Queen,  a  haughty  beauty 
such  as  should  be  a  Rajput  lady;  for  the  name  "Raj 
put"  signifies  Son  of  a  King,  and  this  lady  was  assur 
edly  the  daughter  of  Kings  and  of  no  lesser  persons. 
And  since  that  beauty  is  long  since  ashes  (all  things 
being  transitory),  it  is  permitted  to  describe  the  mel 
lowed  ivory  of  her  body,  the  smooth  curves  of  her 
hips,  and  the  defiance  of  her  glimmering  bosom,  half 
veiled  by  the  long  silken  tresses  of  sandal-scented  hair 
which  a  maiden  on  either  side,  bowing  toward  her, 
knotted  upon  her  head.  But  even  he  who  with  his 
eyes  has  seen  it  can  scarce  tell  the  beauty  of  her  face 
— the  slender  arched  nose,  the  great  eyes  like  lakes  of 
darkness  in  the  reeds  of  her  curled  lashes,  the  mouth 
of  roses,  the  glance,  deerlike  but  proud,  that  courted 
and  repelled  admiration.  This  cannot  be  told,  nor 


FIRE  OF  BEAUTY  229 

could  the  hand  of  man  paint  it.  Scarcely  could  that 
fair  wife  of  the  Pandava  Prince,  Draupadi  the  Beauti 
ful  (who  bore  upon  her  perfect  form  every  auspicious 
mark)  excel  this  lady. 

(Ashes — ashes!  May  Maheshwara  have  mercy 
upon  her  rebirths!) 

Throughout  India  had  run  the  fame  of  this  beauty. 
In  the  bazaars  of  Kashmir  they  told  of  it.  It  was 
recorded  in  the  palaces  of  Travancore,  and  all  the 
lands  that  lay  between;  and  in  an  evil  hour — may  the 
Gods  curse  the  mother  that  bore  him! — it  reached  the 
ears  of  Allah-u-Din,  the  Moslem  dog,  a  very  great 
fighting  man  who  sat  in  Middle  India,  looting  and 
spoiling. 

(Ahi!  for  the  beauty  that  is  as  a  burning  flame!) 

In  the  gardens  beneath  the  windows  of  the  Queen, 
the  peacocks,  those  maharajas  of  the  birds,  were 
spreading  the  bronze  and  emerald  of  their  tails.  The 
sun  shone  on  them  as  on  heaps  of  jewels,  so  that  they 
dazzled  the  eyes.  They  stood  about  the  feet  of  the 
ancient  Brahmin  sage,  he  who  had  tutored  the  Queen 
in  her  childhood  and  given  her  wisdom  as  the  crest- 
jewel  of  her  loveliness.  He,  the  Twice-born,  sat 
under  the  shade  of  a  neem  tree,  hearing  the  gurgle  of 
the  sacred  waters  from  the  Cow's  Mouth,  where  the 
great  tank  shone  under  the  custard-apple  boughs;  and, 
at  peace  with  all  the  world,  he  read  in  the  Scripture 
which  affirms  the  transience  of  all  things  drifting 


230  FIRE  OF  BEAUTY 

across  the  thought  of  the  Supreme  like  clouds  upon  the 
surface  of  the  Ocean. 

(Ahi!  that  loveliness  is  also  illusion!) 
Her  women  placed  about  the  Queen — that  Lotus  of 
Women — a  robe  of  silk  of  which  none  could  say  that 
it  was  green  or  blue,  the  noble  colours  so  mingled  into 
each  other  under  the  latticed  gold  work  of  Kashi. 
They  set  the  jewels  on  her  head,  and  wide  thin  rings 
of  gold  heavy  with  great  pearls  in  her  ears.  Upon 
the  swell  of  her  bosom  they  clasped  the  necklace  of 
table  emeralds,  large,  deep,  and  full  of  green  lights, 
which  is  the  token  of  the  Chitor  queens.  Upon  her 
slender  ankles  they  placed  the  chooris  of  pure  soft 
gold,  set  also  with  grass-green  emeralds,  and  the 
delicate  soles  of  her  feet  they  reddened  with  lac.  Nor 
were  her  arms  forgotten,  but  loaded  with  bangles  so 
free  from  alloy  that  they  could  be  bent  between  the 
hands  of  a  child.  Then  with  fine  paste  they  painted 
the  Symbol  between  her  dark  brows,  and,  rising,  she 
shone  divine  as  a  nymph  of  heaven  who  should  cause 
the  righteous  to  stumble  in  his  austerities,  and  arrest 
even  the  glances  of  Gods. 

(Ahi!  that  the  Transient  should  be  so  fair!) 

II 

Now  it  was  the  hour  that  the  Rana  should  visit  her; 
for  since  the  coming  of  the  Lotus  Lady,  he  had 
forgotten  his  other  women,  and  in  her  was  all  his  heart. 


FIRE  OF  BEAUTY  231 

He  came  from  the  Hall  of  Audience  where  petitions 
were  heard,  and  justice  done  to  rich  and  poor;  and  as 
he  came,  the  Queen,  hearing  his  step  on  the  stone,  dis 
missed  her  women,  and  smiling  to  know  her  loveliness, 
bowed  before  him,  even  as  the  Goddess  Uma  bows 
before  Him  who  is  her  other  half. 

Now  he  was  a  tall  man,  with  the  falcon  look  of  the 
Hill  Rajputs,  and  moustaches  that  curled  up  to  his 
eyes,  lion-waisted  and  lean  in  the  flanks  like  Arjoon 
himself,  a  very  ruler  of  men;  and  as  he  came,  his  hand 
was  on  the  hilt  of  the  sword  that  showed  beneath  his 
gold  coat  of  khincob.  On  the  high  cushions  he  sat, 
and  the  Rani  a  step  beneath  him;  and  she  said,  raising 
her  lotus  eyes: — 

"Speak,  Aryaputra,  (son  of  a  noble  father) — what 
hath  befallen?" 

And  he,  looking  upon  her  beauty  with  fear, 
replied, — 

"It  is  thy  beauty,  0  wife,  that  brings  disaster." 

"And  how  is  this?"  she  asked  very  earnestly. 

For  a  moment  he  paused,  regarding  her  as  might 
a  stranger,  as  one  who  considers  a  beauty  in  which  he 
hath  no  part;  and,  drawn  by  this  strangeness,  she  rose 
and  knelt  beside  him,  pillowing  her  head  upon  his 
heart. 

"Say  on,"  she  said  in  her  voice  of  music. 

He  unfurled  a  scroll  that  he  had  crushed  in  his 
strong  right  hand,  and  read  aloud: — 


232  FIRE  OF  BEAUTY 

1  Thus  says  Allah-u-Din,  Shadow  of  God,  Wonder 
of  the  Age,  Viceregent  of  Kings.  We  have  heard 
that  in  the  Treasury  of  Chitor  is  a  jewel,  the  like  of 
which  is  not  in  the  Four  Seas — the  work  of  the  hand 
of  the  Only  God,  to  whom  be  praise!  This  jewel  is 
thy  Queen,  the  Lady  Padmini.  Now,  since  the  sons 
of  the  Prophet  are  righteous,  I  desire  but  to  look  upon 
this  jewel,  and  ascribing  glory  to  the  Creator,  to  depart 
in  peace.  Granted  requests  are  the  bonds  of  friend 
ship;  therefore  lay  the  head  of  acquiescence  in  the 
dust  of  opportunity  and  name  an  auspicious  day.' ' 

He  crushed  it  again  and  flung  it  furiously  from  him 
on  the  marble. 

"The  insult  is  deadly.  The  soor!  son  of  a  debased 
mother!  Well  he  knows  that  to  the  meanest  Rajput 
his  women  are  sacred,  and  how  much  more  the 
daughters  and  wives  of  the  Kings!  The  jackals  feast 
on  the  tongue  that  speaks  this  shame!  But  it  is  a 
threat,  Beloved — a  threat!  Give  me  thy  counsel  that 
never  failed  me  yet." 

For  the  Rajputs  take  counsel  with  their  women  who 
are  wise. 

They  were  silent,  each  weighing  the  force  of 
resistance  that  could  be  made;  and  this  the  Rani  knew 
even  as  he. 

"It  cannot  be,"  she  said ;  "the  very  ashes  of  the  dead 
would  shudder  to  hear.  Shall  the  Queens  of  India  be 
made  the  sport  of  the  barbarians?" 


FIRE  OF  BEAUTY  233 

Her  husband  looked  upon  her  fair  face.  She  could 
feel  his  heart  labour  beneath  her  ear. 

"True,  wife;  but  the  barbarians  are  strong.  Our 
men  are  tigers,  each  one,  but  the  red  dogs  of  the 
Dekkan  can  pull  down  the  tiger,  for  they  are  many, 
and  he  alone." 

Then  that  great  Lady,  accepting  his  words,  and  con 
scious  of  the  danger,  murmured  this,  clinging  to  her 
husband : — 

"There  was  a  Princess  of  our  line  whose  beauty 
made  all  other  women  seem  as  waning  moons  in  the 
sun's  splendour.  And  many  great  Kings  sought  her, 
and  there  was  contention  and  war.  And,  she,  fearing 
that  the  Rajputs  would  be  crushed  to  powder  between 
the  warring  Kings,  sent  unto  each  this  message:  'Come 
on  such  and  such  a  day,  and  thou  shalt  see  my  face 
and  hear  my  choice.'  And  they,  coming,  rejoiced 
exceedingly,  thinking  each  one  that  he  was  the  Chosen. 
So  they  came  into  the  great  Hall,  and  there  was  a 
table,  and  somewhat  upon  it  covered  with  a  gold  cloth; 
and  an  old  veiled  woman  lifted  the  gold,  and  the  head 
of  the  Princess  lay  there  with  the  lashes  like  night 
upon  her  cheek,  and  between  her  lips  was  a  little 
scroll,  saying  this:  'I  have  chosen  my  Lover  and  my 
Lord,  and  he  is  mightiest,  for  he  is  Death.' — So  the 
Kings  went  silently  away.  And  there  was  Peace." 

The  music  of  her  voice  ceased,  and  the  Rana 
clasped  her  closer. 


234  FIRE  OF  BEAUTY 

"This  I  cannot  do.  Better  die  together.  Let  us 
take  counsel  with  the  ancient  Brahman,  thy  guru 
[teacher],  for  he  is  very  wise." 

She  clapped  her  hands,  and  the  maidens  returned, 
and,  bowing,  brought  the  venerable  Prabhu  Narayan 
into  the  Presence,  and  again  those  roses  retired. 

Respectful  salutation  was  then  offered  by  the  King 
and  the  Queen  to  that  saint,  hoary  with  wisdom — he 
who  had  seen  her  grow  into  the  loveliness  of  the  sea 
born  Shri,  yet  had  never  seen  that  loveliness;  for  he 
had  never  raised,  his  eyes  above  the  chooris  about  her 
ankles.  To  him  the  King  related  his  anxieties;  and 
he  sat  wrapt  in  musing,  and  the  two  waited  in  dutiful 
silence  until  long  minutes  had  fallen  away ;  and  at  the 
last  he  lifted  his  head,  weighted  with  wisdom,  and 
spoke. 

"0  King,  Descendant  of  Rama!  this  outrage  cannot 
be.  Yet,  knowing  the  strength  and  desire  of  this 
obscene  one  and  the  weakness  of  our  power,  it  is  plain 
that  only  with  cunning  can  cunning  be  met.  Hear, 
therefore,  the  history  of  the  Fox  and  the  Drum. 

"A  certain  Fox  searched  for  food  in  the  jungle,  and 
so  doing  beheld  a  tree  on  which  hung  a  drum;  and 
when  the  boughs  knocked  upon  the  parchment,  it 
sounded  aloud.  Considering,  he  believed  that  so 
round  a  form  and  so  great  a  voice  must  portend  much 
good  feeding.  Neglecting  on  this  account  a  fowl  that 


FIRE  OF  BEAUTY  235 

fed  near  by,  he  ascended  to  the  drum.  The  drum 
being  rent  was  but  air  and  parchment,  and  meanwhile 
the  fowl  fled  away.  And  from  the  eye  of  folly  he 
shed  the  tear  of  disappointment,  having  bartered  the 
substance  for  the  shadow.  So  must  we  act  with  this 
bud-mash  [scoundrel].  First,  receiving  his  oath  that 
he  will  depart  without  violence,  bid  him  hither  to  a 
great  feast,  and  say  that  he  shall  behold  the  face  of  the 
Queen  in  a  mirror.  Provide  that  some  fair  woman 
of  the  city  show  her  face,  and  then  let  him  depart  in 
peace,  showing  him  friendship.  He  shall  not  know 
he  hath  not  seen  the  beauty  he  would  befoul." 

After  consultation,  no  better  way  could  be  found; 
but  the  heart  of  that  great  Lady  was  heavy  with  fore 
boding. 

(Ahi!  that  Beauty  should  wander  a  pilgrim  in  the 
ways  of  sorrow!) 

To  Allah-u-Din  therefore  did  the  king  dispatch  this 
letter  by  swift  riders  on  mares  of  Mewar. 

After  salutations — "Now  whereas  thou  hast  said 
thou  wouldst  look  upon  the  beauty  of  the  Treasure  of 
Chitor,  know  it  is  not  the  custom  of  the  Rajputs  that 
any  eye  should  light  upon  their  treasure.  Yet 
assuredly,  when  requests  arise  between  friends,  there 
cannot  fail  to  follow  distress  of  mind  and  division  of 
soul  if  these  are  ungranted.  So,  under  promises  that 
follow,  I  bid  thee  to  a  feast  at  my  poor  house  of 


236  FIRE  OF  BEAUTY 

Chitor,  and  them  shalt  see  that  beauty  reflected  in  a 
mirror,  and  so  seeing,  depart  in  peace  from  the  house 
of  a  friend." 

This  being  writ  by  the  Twice-Born,  the  Brahman, 
did  the  Rana  sign  with  bitter  rage  in  his  heart.  And 
the  days  passed. 

Ill 

On  a  certain  day  found  fortunate  by  the  astrologers 
— a  day  of  early  winter,  when  the  dawns  were  pure 
gold  and  the  nights  radiant  with  a  cool  moon — did  a 
mighty  troop  of  Moslems  set  their  camp  on  the  plain 
of  Chitor.  It  was  as  if  a  city  had  blossomed  in  an 
hour.  Those  who  looked  from  the  walls  muttered 
prayers  to  the  Lord  of  the  Trident;  for  these  men 
seemed  like  the  swarms  of  the  locust-people,  warriors 
all,  fierce  fighting-men.  And  in  the  ways  of  Chitor, 
and  up  the  steep  and  winding  causeway  from  the 
plains,  were  warriors  also,  the  chosen  of  the  Rajputs, 
thick  as  blades  of  corn  hedging  the  path. 

(Ahi!  that  the  blossom  of  beauty  should  have 
swords  for  thorns!) 

Then,  leaving  his  camp,  attended  by  many  Chiefs, 
— may  the  mothers  and  sires  that  begot  them  be 
accursed! — came  Allah-u-Din,  riding  toward  the 
Lower  Gate,  and  so  upward  along  the  causeway,  be 
tween  the  two  rows  of  men  who  neither  looked  nor 
spoke,  standing  like  the  carvings  of  war  in  the  Caves 


FIRE  OF  BEAUTY  237 

of  Ajunta.  And  the  moon  was  rising  through  the  sun 
set  as  he  came  beneath  the  last  and  seventh  gate. 
Through  the  towers  and  palaces  he  rode  with  his 
following,  but  no  woman,  veiled  or  unveiled, — no,  not 
even  an  outcast  of  the  city, — was  there  to  see  him 
come;  only  the  men,  armed  and  silent.  So  he  turned 
to  Munim  Khan  that  rode  at  his  bridle,  saying, — 

"Let  not  the  eye  of  watchfulness  close  this  night  on 
the  pillow  of  forgetfulness!" 

And  thus  he  entered  the  palace. 

Very  great  was  the  feast  in  Chitor,  and  the  wines 
that  those  accursed  should  not  drink  (since  the  Outcast 
whom  they  call  their  Prophet  forbade  them)  ran  like 
water,  and  at  the  right  hand  of  Allah-u-Din  was  set 
the  great  crystal  Cup  inlaid  with  gold  by  a  craft  that 
is  now  perished;  and  he  filled  and  refilled  it — may 
his  own  Prophet  curse  the  swine! 

But  because  the  sons  of  Kings  eat  not  with  the  out 
cast,  the  Rana  entered  after,  clothed  in  chain  armour 
of  blue  steel,  and  having  greeted  him,  bid  him  to  the 
sight  of  that  Treasure.  And  Allah-u-Din,  his  eyes 
swimming  with  wine,  and  yet  not  drunken,  followed, 
and  the  two  went  alone. 

Purdahs  [curtains]  of  great  splendour  were  hung 
in  the  great  Hall  that  is  called  the  Raja's  Hall,  ex 
ceeding  rich  with  gold,  and  in  front  of  the  opening 
was  a  kneeling-cushion,  and  on  a  gold  stool  before  it 
a  polished  mirror. 


238  FIRE  OF  BEAUTY 

(Ahi!  for  gold  and  beauty,  the  scourges  of  the 
world!) 

And  the  Rana  was  pale  to  the  lips. 

Now  as  the  Princes  stood  by  the  purdah,  a  veiled 
woman,  shrouded  in  white  so  that  no  shape  could  be 
seen  in  her,  came  forth  from  within,  and  kneeling 
upon  the  cushion,  she  unveiled  her  face,  bending  until 
the  mirror,  like  a  pool  of  water,  held  it,  and  that  only. 
And  the  King  motioned  his  guest  to  look,  and  he  looked 
over  her  veiled  shoulder  and  saw.  Very  great  was 
the  bowed  beauty  that  the  mirror  held,  but  Allah-u- 
Din  turned  to  the  Rana. 

"By  the  Bread  and  the  Salt,  by  the  Guest-Right,  by 
the  Honour  of  thy  House,  I  ask — is  this  the  Treasure 
of  Chitor?" 

And  since  the  Sun-Descended  cannot  lie,  no,  not 
though  they  perish,  the  Rana  answered,  flushing 
darkly, — 

"This  is  not  the  Treasure.     Wilt  thou  spare?" 

But  he  would  not,  and  the  woman  slipped  like  a 
shadow  behind  the  purdah  and  no  word  said. 

Then  was  heard  the  tinkling  of  chooris,  and  the 
little  noise  fell  upon  the  silence  like  a  fear,  and, 
parting  the  curtains,  came  a  woman  veiled  like  the 
other.  She  did  not  kneel,  but  took  the  mirror  in  her 
hand,  and  Allah-u-Din  drew  up  behind  her  back. 
From  her  face  she  raised  the  veil  of  gold  Dakka  webs, 
and  gazed  into  the  mirror,  holding  it  high,  and  that 


FIRE  OF  BEAUTY  239 

Accursed  stumbled  back,  blinded  with  beauty,  saying 
this  only, — 

"I  have  seen  the  Treasure  of  Chitor." 

So  the  purdah  fell  about  her. 

The  next  day,  after  the  Imaum  of  the  Accursed  had 
called  them  to  prayer,  they  departed,  and  Allah-u-Din, 
paying  thanks  to  the  Rana  for  honours  given  and 
taken,  and  swearing  friendship,  besought  him  to  ride 
to  his  camp,  to  see  the  marvels  of  gold  and  steel 
armour  brought  down  from  the  passes,  swearing  also 
safe-conduct.  And  because  the  Rajputs  trust  the 
word  even  of  a  foe,  he  went. 

(Ahi!  that  honour  should  strike  hands  with 
traitors!) 

IV 

The  hours  went  by,  heavy-footed  like  mourners. 

Padmini  the  Rani  knelt  by  the  window  in  her  tower 
that  overlooks  the  plains.  Motionless  she  knelt  there, 
as  the  Goddess  Uma  lost  in  her  penances,  and  she 
saw  her  Lord  ride  forth,  and  the  sparkle  of  steel  where 
the  sun  shone  on  them,  and  the  Standard  of  the  Gold 
Disk  on  its  black  ground.  So  the  camp  of  the  Moslem 
swallowed  them  up,  and  they  returned  no  more.  Still 
she  knelt  and  none  dared  speak  with  her;  and  as  the 
first  shade  of  evening  fell  across  the  hills  of  Rajas- 
than,  she  saw  a  horseman  spurring  over  the  flat;  and 


240  FIRE  OF  BEAUTY 

he  rode  like  the  wind,  and,  seeing,  she  implored  the 
Gods. 

Then  entered  the  Twice-Born,  that  saint  of  clear 
eyes,  and  he  bore  a  scroll;  and  she  rose  and  seated 
herself,  and  he  stood  by  her,  as  her  ladies  cowered 
like  frightened  doves  before  the  woe  in  his  face  as  he 
read. 

"To  the  Rose  of  Beauty,  The  Pearl  among  Women, 
the  Chosen  of  the  Palace.  Who,  having  seen  thy 
loveliness,  can  look  on  another?  Who,  having  tasted 
the  wine  of  the  Houris,  but  thirsts  forever?  Behold, 
I  have  thy  King  as  hostage.  Come  thou  and  deliver 
him.  I  have  sworn  that  he  shall  return  in  thy  place.' 

And  from  a  smaller  scroll,  the  Brahman  read 
this: — 

"I  am  fallen  in  the  snare.  Act  thou  as  becomes  a 
Rajputni." 

Then  that  Daughter  of  the  Sun  lifted  her  head,  for 
the  thronging  of  armed  feet  was  heard  in  the  Council 
Hall  below.  From  the  floor  she  caught  her  veil  and 
veiled  herself  in  haste,  and  the  Brahman  with  bowed 
head  followed,  while  her  women  mourned  aloud. 
And,  descending,  between  the  folds  of  the  purdah  she 
appeared  white  and  veiled,  and  the  Brahman  beside 
her,  and  the  eyes  of  all  the  Princes  were  lowered  to 
her  shrouded  feet,  while  the  voice  they  had  not  heard 
fell  silverly  upon  the  air,  and  the  echoes  of  the  high 
roof  repeated  it. 


FIRE  OF  BEAUTY  241 

"Chief  of  the  Rajputs,  what  is  your  counsel?" 

And  he  of  Marwar  stepped  forward,  and  not  rais 
ing  his  eyes  above  her  feet,  answered, — 

"Queen,  what  is  thine?" 

For  the  Rajputs  have  ever  heard  the  voice  of  their 
women. 

And  she  said, — 

"I  counsel  that  I  die  and  my  head  be  sent  to  him, 
that  my  blood  may  quench  his  desire." 

And  each  talked  eagerly  with  the  other,  but  amid 
the  tumult  the  Twice-Born  said, — 

"This  is  not  good  talk.  In  his  rage  he  will  slay 
the  King.  By  my  yoga,  I  have  seen  it.  Seek 
another  way." 

So  they  sought,  but  could  determine  nothing,  and 
they  feared  to  ride  against  the  dog,  for  he  held  the 
life  of  the  King;  and  the  tumult  was  great,  but  all 
were  for  the  King's  safety. 

Then  once  more  she  spoke. 

"Seeing  it  is  determined  that  the  King's  life  is  more 
than  my  honour,  I  go  this  night.  In  your  hand  I 
leave  my  little  son,  the  Prince  Ajeysi.  Prepare  my 
litters,  seven  hundred  of  the  best,  for  all  my  women 
go  with  me.  Depart  now,  for  I  have  a  thought  from 
the  Gods." 

Then,  returning  to  her  bower,  she  spoke  this  letter 
to  the  saint,  and  he  wrote  it,  and  it  was  sent  to  the 
camp. 


242  FIRE  OF  BEAUTY 

After  salutations — "Wisdom  and  strength  have 
attained  their  end.  Have  ready  for  release  the  Rana 
of  Chitor,  for  this  night  I  come  with  my  ladies,  the 
prize  of  the  conqueror." 

When  the  sun  sank,  a  great  procession  with  torches 
descended  the  steep  way  of  Chitor — seven  hundred 
litters,  and  in  the  first  was  borne  the  Queen,  and  all 
her  women  followed. 

All  the  streets  were  thronged  with  women,  weeping 
and  beating  their  breasts.  Very  greatly  they  wept, 
and  no  men  were  seen,  for  their  livers  were  black 
within  them  for  shame  as  the  Treasure  of  Chitor  de 
parted,  nor  would  they  look  upon  the  sight.  And 
across  the  plains  went  that  procession;  as  if  the  stars 
had  fallen  upon  the  earth,  so  glittered  the  sorrowful 
lights  of  the  Queen. 

But  in  the  camp  was  great  rejoicing,  for  the  Bar 
barians  knew  that  many  fair  women  attended  on  her. 

Now,  before  the  entrance  to  the  camp  they  had 
made  a  great  shamiana  [tent]  ready,  hung  with 
shawls  of  Kashmir  and  the  plunder  of  Delhi;  and 
there  was  set  a  silk  divan  for  the  Rani,  and  beside  it 
stood  the  Loser  and  the  Gainer,  Allah-u-Din  and  the 
King,  awaiting  the  Treasure. 

Veiled  she  entered,  stepping  proudly,  and  taking 
no  heed  of  the  Moslem,  she  stood  before  her  husband, 
and  even  through  the  veil  he  could  feel  the  eyes  he 
knew. 


FIRE  OF  BEAUTY  243 

And  that  Accursed  spoke,  laughing. 

"I  have  won — I  have  won,  0  King!  Bid  farewell 
to  the  Chosen  of  the  Palace — the  Beloved  of  the 
Viceregent  of  Kings!" 

Then  she  spoke  softly,  delicately,  in  her  own 
tongue,  that  the  outcast  should  not  guess  the  matter  of 
her  speech. 

"Stand  by  me.  Stir  not.  And  when  I  raise  my 
arm,  cry  the  cry  of  the  Rajputs.  NOW!" 

And  she  flung  her  arm  above  her  head,  and  in 
stantly,  like  a  lion  roaring,  he  shouted,  drawing  his 
sword,  and  from  every  litter  sprang  an  armed  man, 
glittering  in  steel,  and  the  bearers,  humble  of  mien, 
were  Rajput  knights,  every  one. 

And  Allah-u-Din  thrust  at  the  breast  of  the  Queen; 
but  around  them  surged  the  war,  and  she  was  hedged 
with  swords  like  a  rose  in  the  thickets. 

Very  full  of  wine,  dull  with  feasting  and  lust  and 
surprise,  the  Moslems  fled  across  the  plains,  stream 
ing  in  a  broken  rabble,  cursing  and  shouting  like  low- 
caste  women;  and  the  Rajputs,  wiping  their  swords,  re 
turned  from  the  pursuit  and  laughed  upon  each  other. 

But  what  shall  be  said  of  the  joy  of  the  King 
and  of  her  who  had  imagined  this  thing,  in 
structed  of  the  Goddess  who  is  the  other  half  of  her 
Lord? 

So  the  procession  returned,  singing,  to  Chitor  with 
those  Two  in  the  midst;  but  among  the  dogs  that  fled 


244  FIRE  OF  BEAUTY 

was  Allah-u-Din,  his  face  blackened  with  shame  and 
wrath,  the  curses  choking  in  his  foul  throat. 

(Ahi!  that  the  evil  still  walk  the  ways  of  the  world!) 


So  the  time  went  by  and  the  beauty  of  the  Queen 
grew,  and  her  King  could  see  none  but  hers.  Like 
the  moon  she  obscured  the  stars,  and  every  day  he 
remembered  her  wisdom,  her  valour,  and  his  soul  did 
homage  at  her  feet,  and  there  was  great  content  in 
Chitor. 

It  chanced  one  day  that  the  Queen,  looking  from 
her  high  window  that  like  an  eagle's  nest  overhung 
the  precipice,  saw,  on  the  plain  beneath,  a  train  of 
men,  walking  like  ants,  and  each  carried  a  basket  on 
his  back,  and  behind  them  was  a  cloud  of  dust  like 
a  great  army.  Already  the  city  was  astir  because  of 
this  thing,  and  the  rumours  came  thick  and  the  spies 
were  sent  out. 

In  the  dark  they  returned,  and  the  Rana  entered 
the  bower  of  Padmini,  his  eyes  burning  like  coal  with 
hate  and  wrath,  and  he  flung  his  arm  round  his  wife 
like  a  shield. 

"He  is  returned,  and  in  power.  Counsel  me  again, 
0  wife,  for  great  is  thy  wisdom!" 

But  she  answered  only  this, — 


FIRE  OF  BEAUTY  245 

"Fight,  for  this  time  it  is  to  the  death." 

Then  each  day  she  watched  how  the  baskets  of 
earth,  emptied  upon  the  plain  at  first,  made  nothing, 
an  ant  heap  whereat  fools  might  laugh.  But  each  day 
as  the  trains  of  men  came,  spilling  their  baskets,  the 
great  earthworks  grew  and  their  height  mounted. 
Day  after  day  the  Rajputs  rode  forth  and  slew;  and 
as  they  slew  it  seemed  that  all  the  teeming  millions 
of  the  earth  came  forth  to  take  the  places  of  the  slain. 
And  the  Rajputs  fell  also,  and  under  the  pennons 
the  thundering  forces  returned  daily,  thinned  of  their 
best. 

(Ahi!  that  Evil  rules  the  world  as  God!) 

And  still  the  earth  grew  up  to  the  heights,  and  the 
protection  of  the  hills  was  slowly  withdrawn  from 
Chitor,  for  on  the  heights  they  made  they  set  their 
engines  of  war. 

Then  in  a  red  dawn  that  great  saint  Narayan  came 
to  the  Queen,  where  she  watched  by  her  window,  and 
spoke. 

"0  great  lady,  I  have  dreamed  a  fearful  dream. 
Nay,  rather  have  I  seen  a  vision." 

With  her  face  set  like  a  sword,  the  Queen  said, — 

"Say  on." 

"In  a  light  red  like  blood,  I  waked,  and  beside  me 
stood  the  Mother, — Durga, — awful  to  see,  with  a 
girdle  of  heads  about  her  middle;  and  the  drops  fell 


246  FIRE  OF  BEAUTY 

thick  and  slow  from  That  which  she  held  in  her  hand, 
and  in  the  other  was  her  sickle  of  Doom.  Nor  did 
she  speak,  but  my  soul  heard  her  words." 

"Narrate  them." 

"She  commanded:  'Say  this  to  the  Rana:  "In 
Chitor  is  My  altar;  in  Chitor  is  thy  throne.  If  thou 
wouldst  save  either,  send  forth  twelve  crowned  Kings 
of  Chitor  to  die.'  " 

As  he  said  this,  the  Rana,  forespent  with  fighting, 
entered  and  heard  the  Divine  word. 

Now  there  were  twelve  princes  of  the  Rajput  blood, 
and  the  youngest  was  the  son  of  Padmini.  What 
choice  had  these  most  miserable  but  to  appease  the 
dreadful  anger  of  the  Goddess?  So  on  each  fourth 
day  a  King  of  Chitor  was  crowned,  and  for  three 
days  sat  upon  the  throne,  and  on  the  fourth  day,  set 
in  the  front,  went  forth  and  died  fighting.  So  per 
ished  eleven  Kings  of  Chitor,  and  now  there  was  left 
but  the  little  Ajeysi,  the  son  of  the  Queen. 

And  that  day  was  a  great  Council  called. 

Few  were  there.  On  the  plains  many  lay  dead; 
holding  the  gates  many  watched;  but  the  blood  was 
red  in  their  hearts  and  flowed  like  Indus  in  the  melt 
ing  of  the  snows.  And  to  them  spoke  the  Rana,  his 
hand  clenched  on  his  sword,  and  the  other  laid  on  the 
small  dark  head  of  the  Prince  Ajeysi,  who  stood 
between  his  knees.  And  as  he  spoke  his  voice 
gathered  strength  till  it  rang  through  the  hall  like 


FIRE  OF  BEAUTY  247 

the  voice  of  Indra  when  he  thunders  in  the  heav 
ens. 

"Men  of  the  Rajputs,  this  child  shall  not  die.  Are 
we  become  jackals  that  we  fall  upon  the  weak  and 
tear  them?  When  have  we  put  our  women  and 
children  in  the  forefront  of  the  war?  I — I  only  am 
King  of  Chitor.  Narayan  shall  save  this  child  for 
the  time  that  will  surely  come.  And  for  us — what 
shall  we  do?  I  die  for  Chitor!" 

And  like  the  hollow  waves  of  a  great  sea  they 
answered  him, — 

"We  will  die  for  Chitor." 

There  was  silence  and  Marwar  spoke. 

"The  women?" 

"Do  they  not  know  the  duty  of  a  Rajputni?"  said 
the  King.  "My  household  has  demanded  that  the 
caves  be  prepared." 

And  the  men  clashed  stern  joy  with  their  swords, 
and  the  council  dispersed. 

Then  that  very  great  saint,  the  Twice-Born,  put  off 
the  sacred  thread  that  is  the  very  soul  of  the  Brahman. 
In  his  turban  he  wound  it  secretly,  and  he  stained 
his  noble  Aryan  body  until  it  resembled  the  Pariahs, 
foul  for  the  pure  to  see,  loathsome  for  the  pure  to 
touch,  and  he  put  on  him  the  rags  of  the  lowest  of 
the  earth,  and  taking  the  Prince,  he  removed  from 
the  body  of  the  child  every  trace  of  royal  and  Rajput 
birth,  and  he  appeared  like  a  child  of  the  Bhils — the 


248  FIRE  OF  BEAUTY 

vile  forest  wanderers  that  shame  not  to  defile  their 
lips  with  carrion.  And  in  this  guise  they  stood  be 
fore  the  Queen;  and  when  she  looked  on  the  saint, 
the  tears  fell  from  her  eyes  like  rain,  not  for  grief 
for  her  son,  nor  for  death,  but  that  for  their  sake  the 
pure  should  be  made  impure  and  the  glory  of  the 
Brahmanhood  be  defiled.  And  she  fell  at  the  old 
man's  feet  and  laid  her  head  on  the  ground  before 
him. 

"Rise,  daughter!"  he  said,  "and  take  comfort! 
Are  not  the  eyes  of  the  Gods  clear  that  they  should  dis 
tinguish? — and  this  day  we  stand  before  the  God  of 
Gods.  Have  not  the  Great  Ones  said,  'That  which 
causes  life  causes  also  decay  and  death?'  There 
fore  we  who  go  and  you  who  stay  are  alike  a  part  of 
the  Divine.  Embrace  now  thy  child  and  bless  him, 
for  we  depart.  And  it  is  on  account  of  the  sacrifice 
of  the  Twelve  that  he  is  saved  alive." 

So,  controlling  her  tears,  she  rose,  and  clasping 
the  child  to  her  bosom,  she  bade  him  be  of  good  cheer 
since  he  went  with  the  Gods.  And  that  great  saint 
took  his  hand  from  hers,  and  for  the  first  time  in  the 
life  of  the  Queen  he  raised  his  aged  eyes  to  her  face, 
and  she  gazed  at  him;  but  what  she  read,  even  the 
ascetic  Visravas,  who  saw  all  by  the  power  of  his 
yoga,  could  not  tell,  for  it  was  beyond  speech.  Very 
certainly  the  peace  hereafter  possessed  her. 

So  those  two  went  out  by  the  secret  ways  of  the 


FIRE  OF  BEAUTY  249 

rocks,  and  wandering  far,  were  saved  by  the  favour 
of  Durga. 


VI 

And  the  nights  went  by  and  the  days,  and  the  time 
came  that  no  longer  could  they  hold  Chitor,  and  all 
hope  was  dead. 

On  a  certain  day  the  Rana  and  the  Rani  stood  for 
the  last  time  in  her  bower,  and  looked  down  into  the 
city;  and  in  the  streets  were  gathered  in  a  very  won 
derful  procession  the  women  of  Chitor;  and  not  one 
was  veiled.  Flowers  that  had  bloomed  in  the  inner 
chambers,  great  ladies  jeweled  for  a  festival,  young 
brides,  aged  mothers,  and  girl  children  clinging  to 
the  robes  of  their  mothers  who  held  their  babes, 
crowded  the  ways.  Even  the  low-caste  women 
walked  with  measured  steps  and  proudly,  decked  in 
what  they  had  of  best,  their  eyes  lengthened  with 
soorma,  and  flowers  in  the  darkness  of  their  hair. 

The  Queen  was  clothed  in  a  gold  robe  of  rejoicing, 
her  bodice  latticed  with  diamonds  and  great  gems, 
and  upon  her  bosom  the  necklace  of  table  emeralds, 
alight  with  green  fire,  which  is  the  jewel  of  the  Queens 
of  Chitor.  So  she  stood  radiant  as  a  vision  of  Shri, 
and  it  appeared  that  rays  encircled  her  person. 

And  the  Rana,  unarmed  save  for  his  sword,  had 
the  saffron  dress  of  a  bridegroom  and  the  jewelled 


250  FIRE  OF  BEAUTY 

cap  of  the  Rajput  Kings,  and  below  in  the  hall  were 
the  Princes  and  Chiefs,  clad  even  as  he. 

Then,  raising  her  lotus  eyes  to  her  lord,  the 
Princess  said, — 

"Beloved,  the  time  is  come,  and  we  have  chosen 
rightly,  for  this  is  the  way  of  honour,  and  it  is  but 
another  link  forged  in  the  chain  of  existence;  for 
until  existence  itself  is  ended  and  rebirth  destroyed, 
still  shall  we  meet  in  lives  to  come  and  still  be  hus 
band,  and  wife.  What  room  then  for  despair?" 

And  he  answered, — 

"This  is  true.  Go  first,  wife,  and  I  follow.  Let 
not  the  door  swing  to  behind  thee.  But  oh,  to  see 
thy  beauty  once  more  that  is  the  very  speech  of  Gods 
with  men!  Wilt  thou  surely  come  again  to  me  and 
again  be  fair?" 

And  for  all  answer  she  smiled  upon  him,  and  at 
his  feet  performed  the  obeisance  of  a  Rajput  wife 
when  she  departs  upon  a  journey;  and  they  went  out 
together,  the  Queen  unveiled. 

As  she  passed  through  the  Princes,  they  lowered 
their  eyes  so  that  none  saw  her;  but  when  she  stood 
on  the  steps  of  the  palace,  the  women  all  turned 
eagerly  toward  her  like  stars  about  the  moon,  and 
lifting  their  arms,  they  began  to  sing  the  dirge  of  the 
Rajput  women. 

So  they  marched,  and  in  great  companies  they 
marched,  company  behind  company,  young  and  old, 


FIRE  OF  BEAUTY  251 

past  the  Queen,  saluting  her  and  drawing  courage 
from  the  loveliness  and  kindness  of  her  unveiled 
face. 

In  the  rocks  beneath  the  palaces  of  Chitor  are  very 
great  caves — league  long  and  terrible,  with  ways  of 
darkness  no  eyes  have  seen;  and  it  is  believed  that 
in  times  past  spirits  have  haunted  them  with  strange 
wailings.  In  these  was  prepared  great  store  of  wood 
and  oils  and  fragrant  matters  for  burning.  So  to 
these  caves  they  marched  and,  company  by  company, 
disappeared  into  the  darkness;  and  the  voice  of  their 
singing  grew  faint  and  hollow,  and  died  away,  as  the 
men  stood  watching  their  women  go. 

Now,  when  this  was  done  and  the  last  had  gone, 
the  Rani  descended  the  steps,  and  the  Rana,  taking  a 
torch  dipped  in  fragrant  oils,  followed  her,  and  the 
Princes  walked  after,  clad  like  bridegrooms  but  with 
no  faces  of  bridal  joy.  At  the  entrance  of  the  caves, 
having  lit  the  torch,  he  gave  it  into  her  hand,  and 
she,  receiving  it  and  smiling,  turned  once  upon  the 
threshold,  and  for  the  first  time  those  Princes  beheld 
the  face  of  the  Queen,  but  they  hid  their  eyes  with 
their  hands  when  they  had  seen.  So  she  departed 
within,  and  the  Rana  shut  to  the  door  and  barred  and 
bolted  it,  and  the  men  with  him  flung  down  great 
rocks  before  it  so  that  none  should  know  the  way, 
nor  indeed  is  it  known  to  this  day;  and  with  their 
hands  on  their  swords  they  waited  there,  not  speak- 


252  FIRE  OF  BEAUTY 

ing,  until  a  great  smoke  rose  between  the  crevices 
of  the  rocks,  but  no  sound  at  all. 

(Ashes  of  roses — ashes  of  roses! .  .Ahi!  for  beauty 
that  is  but  touched  and  remitted!} 

The  sun  was  high  when,  those  men  with  their  horses 
and  on  foot  marched  down  the  winding  causeway 
beneath  the  seven  gates,  and  so  forth  into  the  plains, 
and  charging  unarmed  upon  the  Moslems,  they  per 
ished  every  man.  After,  it  was  asked  of  one  who 
had  seen  the  great  slaughter,— 

"Say  how  my  King  bore  himself." 

And  he  who  had  seen  told  this: — 

"Reaper  of  the  harvest  of  battle,  on  the  bed  of 
honour  he  has  spread  a  carpet  of  the  slain!  He  sleeps 
ringed  about  by  his  enemies.  How  can  the  world 
tell  of  his  deeds?  The  tongue  is  silent." 

When  that  Accursed,  Allah-u-Din,  came  up  the 
winding  height  of  the  hills,  he  found  only  a  dead 
city,  and  his  heart  was  sick  within  him. 

Now  this  is  the  Sack  of  Chitor,  and  by  the  Oath  of 
the  Sack  of  Chitor  do  the  Rajputs  swear  when  they 
bind  their  honour. 

But  it  is  only  the  ascetic  Visravas  who  by  the 
power  of  his  yoga  has  heard  every  word,  and  with 
his  eyes  beheld  that  Flame  of  Beauty,  who,  for  a 
brief  space  illuminating  the  world  as  a  Queen,  re 
turns  to  birth  in  many  a  shape  of  sorrowful  loveli- 


FIRE  OF  BEAUTY  253 

ness  until  the  Blue-throated  God  shall  in  his  favour 
destroy  her  rebirths. 

Salutation  to  Ganesa  the  Elephant-Headed  One, 
and  to  Shri  the  Lady  of  Beauty! 


THE  BUILDING  OF  THE  TAJ  MAHAL 


THE  BUILDING  OF  THE  TAJ  MAHAL 

In  the  Name  of  God,  the  Compassionate,  the  Merciful — 
the  Smiting!  A  day  when  the  soul  shall  know  what  it  has 
sent  on  or  kept  back.  A  day  when  no  soul  shall  control 
aught  for  another.  And  the  bidding  belongs  to  God. 

THE  KORAN. 

I 

NOW  the  Shah-in-Shah,  Shah  Jahan,  Emperor 
in  India,  loved  his  wife  with  a  great  love. 
And  of  all  the  wives  of  the  Mogul  Emperors 
surely    this   Lady    Arjemand,    Mumtaz-i-Mahal — the 
Chosen  of  the  Palace — was  the  most  worthy  of  love. 
In  the  tresses  of  her  silk-soft  hair  his  heart  was  bound, 
and  for  none  other  had  he  so  much  as  a  passing 
thought  since  his  soul  had  been  submerged  in  her 
sweetness.     Of  her  he  said,  using  the  words  of  the 
poet  Faisi, — 

"How  shall  I  understand  the  magic  of  Love  the  Juggler? 
For  he  made  thy  beauty  enter  at  that  small   gate  the 

pupil  of  my  eye, 
And  now — and  now  my  heart  cannot  contain  it!" 

But  who  should  marvel?  For  those  who  have  seen 
this  Arjemand  crowned  with  the  crown  the  Padishah 
set  upon  her  sweet  low  brows,  with  the  lamps  of  great 
jewels  lighting  the  dimples  of  her  cheeks  as  they 

257 


258    THE  BUILDING  OF  THE  TAJ  MAHAL 

swung  beside  them,  have  most  surely  seen  perfection. 
He  who  sat  upon  the  Peacock  Throne,  where  the  out 
spread  tail  of  massed  gems  is  centred  by  that  great 
ruby,  "The  Eye  of  the  Peacock,  the  Tribute  of  the 
World,"  valued  it  not  so  much  as  one  lock  of  the  dark 
and  perfumed  tresses  that  rolled  to  her  feet.  Less  to 
him  the  twelve  throne  columns  set  close  with  pearls 
than  the  little  pearls  she  showed  in  her  sweet  laughter. 
For  if  this  lady  was  all  beauty,  so  too  she  was  all 
goodness;  and  from  the  Shah-in-Shah  to  the  poorest, 
all  hearts  of  the  world  knelt  in  adoration,  before  the 
Chosen  of  the  Palace.  She  was,  indeed,  an  extraor 
dinary  beauty,  in  that  she  had  the  soul  of  a  child, 
and  she  alone  remained  unconscious  of  her  power; 
and  so  she  walked,  crowned  and  clothed  with  humility. 

Cold,  haughty,  and  silent  was  the  Shah-in-Shah  be 
fore  she  blessed  his  arms — flattered,  envied,  but  loved 
by  none.  But  the  gift  this  Lady  brought  with  her  was 
love;  and  this,  shining  like  the  sun  upon  ice,  melted 
his  coldness,  and  he  became  indeed  the  kingly  centre 
of  a  kingly  court.  May  the  Peace  be  upon  her! 

Now  it  was  the  dawn  of  a  sorrowful  day  when  the 
pains  of  the  Lady  Arjemand  came  strong  and  terrible, 
and  she  travailed  in  agony.  The  hakims  (physicians) 
stroked  their  beards  and  reasoned  one  with  another; 
the  wise  women  surrounded  her,  and  remedies  many 
and  great  were  tried ;  and  still  her  anguish  grew,  and 
in  the  hall  without  sat  the  Shah-in-Shah  upon  his 


THE  BUILDING  OF  THE  TAJ  MAHAL     259 

divan,  in  anguish  of  spirit  yet  greater.  The  sweat 
ran  on  his  brows,  the  knotted  veins  were  thick  on  his 
temples,  and  his  eyes,  sunk  in  their  caves,  showed  as 
those  of  a  maddened  man.  He  crouched  on  his  cush 
ions  and  stared  at  the  purdah  that  divided  him  from 
the  Lady ;  and  all  day  the  people  came  and  went  about 
him,  and  there  was  silence  from  the  voice  he  longed 
to  hear;  for  she  would  not  moan,  lest  the  sound  should 
slay  the  Emperor.  Her  women  besought  her,  fearing 
that  her  strong  silence  would  break  her  heart;  but 
still  she  lay,  her  hands  clenched  in  one  another, 
enduring;  and  the  Emperor  endured  without.  The 
Day  of  the  Smiting! 

So,  as  the  time  of  the  evening  prayer  drew  nigh,  a 
child  was  born,  and  the  Empress,  having  done  with 
pain,  began  to  sink  slowly  into  that  profound  sleep 
that  is  the  shadow  cast  by  the  Last.  May  Allah  the 
Upholder  have  mercy  on  our  weakness!  And  the 
women,  white  with  fear  and  watching,  looked  upon 
her,  and  whispered'  one  to  another,  "It  is  the  end." 

And  the  aged  mother  of  Abdul  Mirza,  standing  at 
her  head,  said,  "She  heeds  not  the  cry  of  the  child, 
she  cannot  stay." 

And  the  newly  wed  wife  of  Saif  Khan,  standing  at 
her  feet,  said,  "The  voice  of  a  beloved  husband  is  as 
the  Call  of  the  Angel.  Let  the  Padishah  be  sum 
moned." 

So,  the  evening  prayer  being  over  (but  the  Emperor 


260     THE  BUILDING  OF  THE  TAJ  MAHAL 

had  not  prayed),  the  wisest  of  the  hakims,  Kazim 
Sharif,  went  before  him  and  spoke: — 

"Inshallah!  May  the  will  of  the  Issuer  of  Decrees 
in  all  things  be  done!  Ascribe  unto  the  Creator 
glory,  bowing  before  his  Throne." 

And  he  remained  silent;  but  the  Padishah,  haggard 
in  his  jewels,  with  his  face  hidden,  answered  thickly, 
"The  truth!  For  Allah  has  forgotten  his  slave." 

And  Kazim  Sharif,  bowing  at  his  feet  and  veiling 
his  face  with  his  hands,  replied: 

"The  voice  of  the  child  cannot  reach  her,  and  the 
Lady  of  Delight  departs.  He  who  would  speak  with 
her  must  speak  quickly." 

Then  the  Emperor  rose  to  his  feet  unsteadily,  like 
a  man  drunk  with  the  forbidden  juice;  and  when 
Kazim  Sharif  would  have  supported  him,  he  flung 
aside  his  hands,  and  he  stumbled,  a  man  wounded  to 
death,  as  it  were,  to  the  marble  chamber  where  she 
lay. 

In  that  white  chamber  it  was  dusk,  and  they  had 
lit  the  little  cressets  so  that  a  very  faint  light  fell  upon 
her  face.  A  slender  fountain  a  little  cooled  the  hot, 
still  air  with  its  thin  music  and  its  sprinkled  diamonds, 
and  outside,  the  summer  lightnings  were  playing  wide 
and  blue  on  the  river;  but  so  still  was  it  that  the 
dragging  footsteps  of  the  Emperor  raised  the  hair  on 
the  flesh  of  those  who  heard.  So  the  women  who 


THE  BUILDING  OF  THE  TAJ  MAHAL     261 

should,  veiled  themselves,  and  the  others  remained 
like  pillars  of  stone. 

Now,  when  those  steps  were  heard,  a  faint  colour 
rose  in  the  cheek  of  the  Lady  Arjemand;  but  she  did 
not  raise  the  heavy  lashes,  or  move  her  hand.  And  he 
came  up  beside  her,  and  the  Shadow  of  God,  who 
should  kneel  to  none,  knelt,  and  his  head  fell  forward 
upon  her  breast;  and  in  the  hush  the  women  glided 
out  like  ghosts,  leaving  the  husband  with  the  wife,  ex 
cepting  only  that  her  foster-nurse  stood  far  off,  with 
eyes  averted. 

So  the  minutes  drifted  by,  falling  audibly  one  by 
one  into  eternity,  and  at  the  long  last  she  slowly 
opened  her  eyes  and,  as  from  the  depths  of  a  dream, 
beheld  the  Emperor;  and  in  a  voice  faint  as  the  fall 
of  a  roseleaf  she  said  the  one  word,  "Beloved!" 

And  he  from  between  his  clenched  teeth,  answered, 
"Speak,  wife." 

So  she,  who  in  all  things  had  loved  and  served  him, 
— she,  Light  of  all  hearts,  dispeller  of  all  gloom, — 
gathered  her  dying  breath  for  consolation,  and  raised 
one  hand  slowly;  and  it  fell  across  his,  and  so  re 
mained. 

Now,  her  beauty  had  been  broken  in  the  anguish 
like  a  rose  in  storm;  but  it  returned  to  her,  doubtless 
that  the  Padishah  might  take  comfort  in  its  memory; 
and  she  looked  like  a  houri  of  Paradise  who,  kneeling 


262     THE  BUILDING  OF  THE  TAJ  MAHAL 

beside  the  Zemzem  Well,  beholds  the  Waters  of  Peace. 
Not  Fatmeh  herself,  the  daughter  of  the  Prophet  of 
God,  shone  more  sweetly.  She  repeated  the  word, 
"Beloved";  and  after  a  pause  she  whispered  on  with 
lips  that  scarcely  stirred,  "King  of  the  Age,  this  is 
the  end." 

But  still  he  was  like  a  dead  man,  nor  lifted  his  face. 

"Surely  all  things  pass.  And  though  I  go,  in  your 
heart  I  abide,  and  nothing  can  sever  us.  Take  com 
fort." 

But  there  was  no  answer. 

"Nothing  but  Love's  own  hand  can  slay  Love. 
Therefore,  remember  me,  and  I  shall  live." 

And  he  answered  from  the  darkness  of  her  bosom, 
"The  whole  world  shall  remember.  But  when  shall 
I  be  united  to  thee?  0  Allah,  how  long  wilt  thou 
leave  me  to  waste  in  this  separation?" 

And  she:  "Beloved,  what  is  time?  We  sleep  and 
the  night  is  gone.  Now  put  your  arms  about  me,  for 
I  sink  into  rest.  What  words  are  needed  between  us? 
Love  is  enough." 

So,  making  not  the  Profession  of  Faith, — and  what 
need,  since  all  her  life  was  worship, — the  Lady 
Arjemand  turned  into  his  arms  like  a  child.  And  the 
night  deepened. 

Morning,  with  its  arrows  of  golden  light  that  struck 
the  river  to  splendour!  Morning,  with  its  pure 
breath,  its  sunshine  of  joy,  and  the  koels  fluting 


THE  BUILDING  OF  THE  TAJ  MAHAL     263 

in  the  Palace  gardens!  Morning,  divine  and  new 
from  the  hand  of  the  Maker!  And  in  the  innermost 
chamber  of  marble  a  white  silence;  and  the  Lady,  the 
Mirror  of  Goodness,  lying  in  the  Compassion  of  Allah, 
and  a  broken  man  stretched  on  the  ground  beside  her. 
For  all  flesh,  from  the  camel-driver  to  the  Shah-in- 
Shah,  is  as  one  in  the  Day  of  the  Smiting. 

II 

For  weeks  the  Emperor  lay  before  the  door  of 
death ;  and  had  it  opened  to  him,  he  had  been  blessed. 
So  the  months  went  by,  and  very  slowly  the  strength 
returned  to  him;  but  his  eyes  were  withered  and  the 
bones  stood  out  in  his  cheeks.  But  he  resumed  his 
throne,  and  sat  upon  it  kingly,  black-bearded, 
eagle-eyed,  terribly  apart  in  his  grief  and  his  royalty; 
and  so  seated  among  his  Usbegs,  he  declared  his 
will. 

"For  this  Lady  (upon  whom  be  peace),  departed  to 
the  mercy  of  the  Giver  and  Taker,  shall  a  tomb-palace 
be  made,  the  like  of  which  is  not  found  in  the  four 
corners  of  the  world.  Send  forth  therefore  for  crafts 
men  like  the  builders  of  the  Temple  of  Solomon  the 
Wise;  for  I  wiU  build." 

So,  taking  counsel,  they  sent  in  haste  into  Agra  for 
Ustad  Isa,  the  Master-Builder,  a  man  of  Shiraz;  and 
he,  being  presented  before  the  Padishah,  received  his 
instruction  in  these  words: — 


264     THE  BUILDING  OF  THE  TAJ  MAHAL 

"I  will  that  all  the  world  shall  remember  the 
Flower  of  the  World,  that  all  hearts  shall  give  thanks 
for  her  beauty,  which  was  indeed  the  perfect  Mirror 
of  the  Creator.  And  since  it  is  abhorrent  to  Islam 
that  any  image  be  made  in  the  likeness  of  anything 
that  has  life,  make  for  me  a  palace-tomb,  gracious  as 
she  was  gracious,  lovely  as  she  was  lovely.  Not  such 
as  the  tombs  of  the  Kings  and  Conquerors,  but  of  a 
divine  sweetness.  Make  me  a  garden  on  the  banks  of 
Jumna,  and  build  it  there,  where,  sitting  in  my 
Pavilion  of  Marble,  I  may  see  it  rise." 

And  Ustad  Isa,  having  heard,  said,  "Upon  my  head 
and  eyes!"  and  went  out  from  the  Presence. 

So,  musing  upon  the  words  of  the  Padishah,  he  went 
to  his  house  in  Agra,  and  there  pondered  the  matter 
long  and  deeply;  and  for  a  whole  day  and  night  he 
refused  all  food  and  secluded  himself  from  the 
society  of  all  men;  for  he  said: — 

"This  is  a  weighty  thing,  for  this  Lady  (upon  whom 
be  peace)  must  visibly  dwell  in  her  tomb-palace  on 
the  shore  of  the  river;  and  how  shall  I,  who  have  never 
seen  her,  imagine  the  grace  that  was  in  her,  and  restore 
it  to  the  world?  Oh,  had  I  but  the  memory  of  her 
face!  Could  I  but  see  it  as  the  Shah-in-Shah  sees  it, 
remembering  the  past!  Prophet  of  God,  intercede 
for  me,  that  I  may  look  through  his  eyes,  if  but  for 
a  moment!" 

That  night  he  slept,  wearied  and  weakened  with 


THE  BUILDING  OF  THE  TAJ  MAHAL     265 

fasting;  and  whether  it  were  that  the  body  guarded  no 
longer  the  gates  of  the  soul,  I  cannot  say;  for,  when 
the  body  ails,  the  soul  soars  free  above  its  weakness. 
But  a  strange  marvel  happened. 

For,  as  it  seemed  to  him,  he  awoke  at  the  mid-noon 
of  the  night,  and  he  was  sitting,  not  in  his  own  house, 
but  upon  the  roof  of  the  royal  palace,  looking  down 
on  the  gliding  Jumna,  where  the  low  moon  slept  in 
silver,  and  the  light  was  alone  upon  the  water;  and 
there  were  no  boats,  but  sleep  and  dream,  hovering 
hand-in-hand,  moved  upon  the  air,  and  his  heart  was 
dilated  in  the  great  silence. 

Yet  he  knew  well  that  he  waked  in  some  super 
natural  sphere :  for  his  eyes  could  see  across  the  river 
as  if  the  opposite  shore  lay  at  his  feet;  and  he  could 
distinguish  every  leaf  on  every  tree,  and  the  flowers 
moon-blanched  and  ghost-like.  And  there,  in  the 
blackest  shade  of  the  pippala  boughs,  he  beheld  a  faint 
light  like  a  pearl;  and  looking  with  unspeakable 
anxiety,  he  saw  within  the  light,  slowly  growing,  the 
figure  of  a  lady  exceedingly  glorious  in  majesty  and 
crowned  with  a  rayed  crown  of  mighty  jewels  of  white 
and  golden  splendour.  Her  gold  robe  fell  to  her 
feet,  and — very  strange  to  tell — her  feet  touched  not 
the  ground,  but  hung  a  span's  length  above  it,  so  that 
she  floated  in  air. 

But  the  marvel  of  marvels  was  her  face — not, 
indeed,  for  its  beauty,  though  that  transcended  all, 


266    THE  BUILDING  OF  THE  TAJ  MAHAL 

but  for  its  singular  and  compassionate  sweetness, 
wherewith  she  looked  toward  the  Palace  beyond  the 
river  as  if  it  held  the  heart  of  her  heart,  while  death 
and  its  river  lay  between. 

And  Ustad  Isa  said: — 

"0  dream,  if  this  sweetness  be  but  a  dream,  let  me 
never  wake!  Let  me  see  forever  this  exquisite  work 
of  Allah  the  Maker,  before  whom  all  the  craftsmen 
are  as  children!  For  my  knowledge  is  as  nothing, 
and  I  am  ashamed  in  its  presence." 

And  as  he  spoke,  she  turned  those  brimming  eyes 
on  him,  and  he  saw  her  slowly  absorbed  into  the  glory 
of  the  moonlight;  but  as  she  faded  into  dream,  he 
beheld,  slowly  rising,  where  her  feet  had  hung  in  the 
blessed  air,  a  palace  of  whiteness,  warm  as  ivory,  cold 
as  chastity,  domes  and  cupolas,  slender  minars,  arches 
of  marble  fretted  into  sea-foam,  screen  within  screen 
of  purest  marble,  to  hide  the  sleeping  beauty  of  a 
great  Queen — silence  in  the  heart  of  it,  and  in  every 
line  a  harmony  beyond  all  music.  Grace  was  about 
it — the  grace  of  a  Queen  who  prays  and  does  not  com 
mand;  who,  seated  in  her  royalty  yet  inclines  all 
hearts  to  love.  And  he  saw  that  its  grace  was  her 
grace,  and  its  soul  her  soul,  and  that  she  gave  it  for 
the  consolation  of  the  Emperor. 

And  he  fell  on  his  face  and  worshipped  the  Master- 
Builder  of  the  Universe,  saying, — 

"Praise    cannot    express    thy    Perfection.     Thine 


THE  BUILDING  OF  THE  TAJ  MAHAL     267 

Essence  confounds  thought.  Surely  I  am  but  the 
tool  in  the  hand  of  the  Builder." 

And  when  he  awoke,  he  was  lying  in  his  own  secret 
chamber,  but  beside  him  was  a  drawing  such  as  the 
craftsmen  make  of  the  work  they  have  imagined  in 
their  hearts.  And  it  was  the  Palace  of  the  Tomb. 

Henceforward,  how  should  he  waver?  He  was  as 
a  slave  who  obeys  his  master,  and  with  haste  he  sum 
moned  to  Agra  his  Army  of  Beauty. 

Then  were  assembled  all  the  master-craftsmen  of 
India  and  of  the  outer  world.  From  Delhi,  from 
Shiraz,  even  from  Bagdad  and  Syria,  they  came. 
Muhammad  Hanif,  the  wise  mason,  came  from  Kan 
dahar,  Muhammad  Sayyid  from  Mooltan.  Amanat 
Khan,  and  other  great  writers  of  the  holy  Koran,  who 
should  make  the  scripts  of  the  Book  upon  fine  marble. 
Inlayers  from  Kanauj,  with  fingers  like  those  of  the 
Spirits  that  bowed  before  Solomon  the  King,  who 
should  make  beautiful  the  pure  stone  with  inlay  of 
jewels,  as  did  their  forefathers  for  the  Rajah  of  Me- 
war;  mighty  dealers  with  agate,  cornelian,  and  lapis 
lazuli.  Came  also,  from  Bokhara,  Ata  Muhammad 
and  Shakri  Muhammad,  that  they  might  carve  the 
lilies  of  the  field,  very  glorious,  about  that  Flower  of 
the  World.  Men  of  India,  men  of  Persia,  men  of 
the  outer  lands,  they  came  at  the  bidding  of  Ustad 
Isa,  that  the  spirit  of  his  vision  might  be  made 
manifest. 


268     THE  BUILDING  OF  THE  TAJ  MAHAL 

And  a  great  council  was  held  among  these  servants 
of  beauty.  So  they  made  a  model  in  little  of  the 
glory  that  was  to  be,  and  laid  it  at  the  feet  of  the 
Shah-in-Shah;  and  he  allowed  it,  though  not  as  yet 
fully  discerning  their  intent.  And  when  it  was  ap 
proved,  Ustad  Isa  called  to  him  a  man  of  Kashmir; 
and  the  very  hand  of  the  Creator  was  upon  this  man, 
for  he  could  make  gardens  second  only  to  the  Gardens 
of  Paradise,  having  been  born  by  that  Dal  Lake  where 
are  those  roses  of  the  earth,  the  Shalimar  and  the 
Nishat  Bagh;  and  to  him  said  Ustad  Isa, — 

"Behold,  Ram  Lai  Kashmiri,  consider  this  design! 
Thus  and  thus  shall  a  white  palace,  exquisite  in  per 
fection,  arise  on  the  banks  of  Jumna.  Here,  in  little, 
in  this  model  of  sandalwood,  see  what  shall  be.  Con 
sider  these  domes,  rounded  as  the  Bosom  of  Beauty, 
recalling  the  mystic  fruit  of  the  lotus  flower.  Con 
sider  these  four  minars  that  stand  about  them  like 
Spirits  about  the  Throne.  And  remembering  that 
all  this  shall  stand  upon  a  great  dais  of  purest  marble, 
and  that  the  river  shall  be  its  mirror,  repeating  to 
everlasting  its  loveliness,  make  me  a  garden  that  shall 
be  the  throne  room  to  this  Queen." 

And  Ram  Lai  Kashmiri  salaamed  and  said, 
"Obedience!"  and  went  forth  and  pondered  night  and 
day,  journeying  even  over  the  snows  of  the  Pir  Panjal 
to  Kashmir,  that  he  might  bathe  his  eyes  in  beauty 
where  she  walks,  naked  and  divine,  upon  the  earth. 


THE  BUILDING  OF  THE  TAJ  MAHAL    269 

And  he  it  was  who  imagined  the  black  marble  and 
white  that  made  the  way  of  approach. 

So  grew  the  palace  that  should  murmur,  like  a  sea- 
shell,  in  the  ear  of  the  world  the  secret  of  love. 

Veiled  had  that  loveliness  been  in  the  shadow  of 
the  palace;  but  now  the  sun  should  rise  upon  it  and 
turn  its  ivory  to  gold,  should  set  upon  it  and 
flush  its  snow  with  rose.  The  moon  should  lie  upon 
it  like  the  pearls  upon  her  bosom,  the  visible  grace  of 
her  presence  breathe  about  it,  the  music  of  her  voice 
hover  in  the  birds  and  trees  of  the  garden.  Times 
there  were  when  Ustad  Isa  despaired  lest  even  these 
mighty  servants  of  beauty  should  miss  perfection. 
Yet  it  grew  and  grew,  rising  like  the  growth  of  a 
flower. 

So  on  a  certain  day  it  stood  completed,  and 
beneath  the  small  tomb  in  the  sanctuary,  veiled  with 
screens  of  wrought  marble  so  fine  that  they  might  lift 
in  the  breeze, — the  veils  of  a  Queen, —  slept  the  Lady 
Arjemand;  and  above  her  a  narrow  coffer  of  white 
marble,  enriched  in  a  great  script  with  the  Ninety- 
Nine  Wondrous  Names  of  God.  And  the  Shah-in- 
Shah,  now  grey  and  worn,  entered  and,  standing  by 
her,  cried  in  a  loud  voice, — 

"I  ascribe  to  the  Unity,  the  only  Creator,  the  per 
fection  of  his  handiwork  made  visible  here  by  the 
hand  of  mortal  man.  For  the  beauty  that  was  secret 
in  my  Palace  is  here  revealed ;  and  the  Crowned  Lady 


270    THE  BUILDING  OF  THE  TAJ  MAHAL 

shall  sit  forever  upon  the  banks  of  the  Jumna  River. 
It  was  Love  that  commanded  this  Tomb." 

And  the  golden  echo  carried  his  voice  up  into  the 
high  dome,  and  it  died  away  in  whispers  of  music. 

But  Ustad  Isa  standing  far  off  in  the  throng  (for 
what  are  craftsmen  in  the  presence  of  the  mighty?), 
said  softly  in  his  beard,  "It  was  Love  also  that  built, 
and  therefore  it  shall  endure." 

Now  it  is  told  that,  on  a  certain  night  in  summer, 
when  the  moon  is  full,  a  man  who  lingers  by  the 
straight  water,  where  the  cypresses  stand  over  their 
own  image,  may  see  a  strange  marvel — may  see  the 
Palace  of  the  Taj  dissolve  like  a  pearl,  and  so  rise  in 
a  mist  into  the  moonlight;  and  in  its  place,  on  her 
dais  of  white  marble,  he  shall  see  the  Lady  Arjemand, 
Mumtaz-i-Mahal,  the  Chosen  of  the  Palace,  stand 
there  in  the  white  perfection  of  beauty,  smiling  as 
one  who  hath  attained  unto  the  Peace.  For  she  is 
its  soul. 

And  kneeling  before  the  dais,  he  shall  see  Ustad 
Isa,  who  made  this  body  of  her  beauty;  and  his  face 
is  hidden  in  his  hands. 


"HOW  GREAT  IS  THE  GLORY  OF  KWANNON!" 


"HOW  GREAT  IS  THE  GLORY  OF  KWANNON!" 
A  JAPANESE  STORY 

(0   Lovely   One— 0   thou   Flower!     With  Thy  beautiful 
face,  with  Thy  beautiful  eyes,  pour  light  upon  the  world! 

Adoration  to  Kwannon.) 

IN  Japan  in  the  days  of  the  remote  Ancestors, 
near  the  little  village  of  Shiobara,  the  river  ran 
through  rocks  of  a  very  strange  blue  colour,  and 
the  bed  of  the  river  was  also  composed  of  these  rocks, 
so  that  the  clear  water  ran  blue  as  turquoise  gems  to 
the  sea. 

The  great  forests  murmured  beside  it,  and  through 
their  swaying  boughs  was  breathed  the  song  of 
Eternity.  Those  who  listen  may  hear  if  their  ears 
are  open.  To  others  it  is  but  the  idle  sighing  of  the 
wind. 

Now  because  of  all  this  beauty  there  stood  in  these 
forests  a  roughly  built  palace  of  unbarked  wood,  and 
here  the  great  Emperor  would  come  from  City-Royal 
to  seek  rest  for  his  doubtful  thoughts  and  the  cares 
of  state,  turning  aside  often  to  see  the  moonlight  in 
Shiobara.  He  sought  also  the  free  air  and  the  sound 
of  falling  water,  yet  dearer  to  him  than  the  plucked 
strings  of  sho  and  bitva.  For  he  said; 

"Where  and  how  shall  We  find  peace  even  for  a 

273 


274          THE  GLORY  OF  KWANNON 

moment,  and  afford  Our  heart  refreshment  even  for 
a  single  second?" 

And  it  seemed  to  him  that  he  found  such  moments 
at  Shiobara. 

Only  one  of  his  great  nobles  would  His  Majesty 
bring  with  him — the  Dainagon,  and  him  he  chose  be 
cause  he  was  a  worthy  and  honourable  person  and 
very  simple  of  heart. 

There  was  yet  another  reason  why  the  Son  of 
Heaven  inclined  to  the  little  Shiobara.  It  had  reached 
the  Emperor  that  a  Recluse  of  the  utmost  sanctity 
dwelt  in  that  forest.  His  name  was  Semimaru.  He 
had  made  himself  a  small  hut  in  the  deep  woods, 
much  as  a  decrepit  silkworm  might  spin  his  last 
cocoon  and  there  had  the  Peace  found  him. 

It  had  also  reached  His  Majesty  that,  although 
blind,  he  was  exceedingly  skilled  in  the  art  of  playing 
the  biwa,  both  in  the  Flowing  Fount  manner  and  the 
Woodpecker  manner,  and  that,  especially  on  nights 
when  the  moon  was  full,  this  aged  man  made  such 
music  as  transported  the  soul.  This  music  His 
Majesty  desired  very  greatly  to  hear. 

Never  had  Semimaru  left  his  hut  save  to  gather 
wood  or  seek  food  until  the  Divine  Emperor  com 
manded  his  attendance  that  he  might  soothe  his 
august  heart  with  music. 

Now  on  this  night  of  nights  the  moon  was  full  and 
the  snow  heavy  on  the  pines,  and  the  earth  was 


THE  GLORY  OF  KWANNON  275 

white  also,  and  when  the  moon  shone  through  the 
boughs  it  made  a  cold  light  like  dawn,  and  the 
shadows  of  the  trees  were  black  upon  it. 

The  attendants  of  His  Majesty  long  since  slept  for 
sheer  weariness,  for  the  night  was  far  spent,  but  the 
Emperor  and  the  Dainagon  still  sat  with  their  eyes 
fixed  on  the  venerable  Semimaru.  For  many  hours 
he  had  played,  drawing  strange  music  from  his  biwa. 
Sometimes  it  had  been  like  rain  blowing  over  the 
plains  of  Adzuma,  sometimes  like  the  winds  roaring 
down  the  passes  of  the  Yoshino  Mountains,  and  yet 
again  like  the  voice  of  far  cities.  For  many  hours 
they  listened  without  weariness,  and  thought  that  all 
the  stories  of  the  ancients  might  flow  past  them  in  the 
weird  music  that  seemed  to  have  nbither  beginning 
nor  end. 

"It  is  as  the  river  that  changes  and  changes  not, 
and  is  ever  and  ever  the  same,"  said  the  Emperor 
in  his  own  soul. 

And  certainly  had  a  voice  announced  to  His 
Augustness  that  centuries  were  drifting  by  as  he 
listened,  he  could  have  felt  no  surprise. 

Before  them,  as  they  sat  upon  the  silken  floor 
cushions,  was  a  small  shrine  with  a  Buddha  shelf, 
and  a  hanging  picture  of  the  Amida  Buddha  within 
it — the  expression  one  of  rapt  peace.  Figures  of 
Fugen  and  Fudo  were  placed  before  the  curtain  doors 
of  the  shrine,  looking  up  in  adoration  to  the  Blessed 


276  THE  GLORY  OF  KWANNON 

One.  A  small  and  aged  pine  tree  was  in  a  pot  of  grey 
porcelain  from  Chosen — the  only  ornament  in  the 
chamber. 

Suddenly  His  Majesty  became  aware  that  the 
Dainagon  also  had  fallen  asleep  from  weariness,  and 
that  the  recluse  was  no  longer  playing,  but  was  speak 
ing  in  a  still  voice  like  a  deeply  flowing  stream.  The 
Emperor  had  observed  no  change  from  music  to 
speech,  nor  could  he  recall  when  the  music  had 
ceased,  so  that  it  altogether  resembled  a  dream. 

"When  I  first  came  here — "  the  Venerable  one  con 
tinued — "it  was  not  my  intention  to  stay  long  in  the 
forest.  As  each  day  dawned,  I  said;  'In  seven  days 
I  go.'  And  again — 'In  seven.'  Yet  have  I  not 
gone.  The  days  glided  by  and  here  have  I  attained 
to  look  on  the  beginnings  of  peace.  Then  where 
fore  should  I  go? — for  all  life  is  within  the  soul. 
Shall  the  fish  weary  of  his  pool?  And  I,  who  through 
my  blind  eyes  feel  the  moon  illuming  my  forest  by 
night  and  the  sun  by  day,  abide  in  peace,  so  that  even 
the  wild  beasts  press  round  to  hear  my  music.  I  have 
come  by  a  path  overblown  by  autumn  leaves.  But  I 
have  come." 

Then  said  the  Divine  Emperor  as  if  unconsciously; 

"Would  that  I  also  might  come!  But  the  august 
duties  cannot  easily  be  laid  aside.  And  I  have  no 
wife — no  son." 

And  Semimaru,  playing  very  softly  on  the  strings 


THE  GLORY  OF  KWANNON          277 

of  his  biwa  made  no  other  answer,  and  His  Majesty, 
collecting  his  thoughts,  which  had  become,  as  it  were, 
frozen  with  the  cold  and  the  quiet  and  the  strange 
music,  spoke  thus,  as  if  in  a  waking  dream; 

"Why  have  I  not  wedded?  Because  I  have  desired 
a  bride  beyond  the  women  of  earth,  and  of  none  such 
as  I  desire  has  the  rumour  reached  me.  Consider 
that  Ancestor  who  wedded  Her  Shining  Majesty! 
Evil  and  lovely  was  she,  and  the  passions  were  loud 
about  her.  And  so  it  is  with  women.  Trouble  and 
vexation  of  spirit,  or  instead  a  great  weariness.  But 
if  the  Blessed  One  would  vouchsafe  to  my  prayers  a 
maiden  of  blossom  and  dew,  with  a  heart  calm  as 
moonlight,  her  would  I  wed.  0,  honourable  One, 
whose  wisdom  surveys  the  world,  is  there  in  any  place 
near  or  far — in  heaven  or  in  earth,  such  a  one  that  I 
may  seek  and  find?" 

And  Semimaru,  still  making  a  very  low  music  on 
his  biwa,  said  this; 

"Supreme  Master,  where  the  Shiobara  river  breaks 
away  through  the  gorges  to  the  sea,  dwelt  a  poor 
couple — the  husband  a  wood-cutter.  They  had  no 
children  to  aid  in  their  toil,  and  daily  the  woman  ad 
dressed  her  prayers  for  a  son  to  the  Bodhisattwa 
Kwannon,  the  Lady  of  Pity  who  looketh  down  for 
ever  upon  the  sound  of  prayer.  Very  fervently  she 
prayed,  with  such  offerings  as  her  poverty  allowed, 
and  on  a  certain  night  she  dreamed  this  dream.  At 


278          THE  GLORY  OF  KWANNON 

the  shrine  of  the  Senju  Kwannon  she  knelt  as  was  her 
custom,  and  that  Great  Lady,  sitting  enthroned  upon 
the  Lotos  of  Purity,  opened  Her  eyes  slowly  from  Her 
divine  contemplation  and  heard  the  prayer  of  the 
wood-cutter's  wife.  Then  stooping  like  a  blown 
willow  branch,  she  gathered  a  bud  from  the  golden 
lotos  plant  that  stood  upon  her  altar,  and  breathing 
upon  it  it  became  pure  white  and  living,  and  it  exhaled 
a  perfume  like  the  flowers  of  Paradise.  This  flower 
the  Lady  of  Pity  flung  into  the  bosom  of  her  petitioner, 
and  closing  Her  eyes  returned  into  Her  divine  dream, 
whilst  the  woman  awoke,  weeping  for  joy. 

But  when  she  sought  in  her  bosom  for  the  Lotos  it 
was  gone.  Of  all  this  she  boasted  loudly  to  her  folk 
and  kin,  and  the  more  so,  when  in  due  time  she  per 
ceived  herself  to  be  with  child,  for,  from  that  august 
favour  she  looked  for  nothing  less  than  a  son,  radiant 
with  the  Five  Ornaments  of  riches,  health,  longevity, 
beauty,  and  success.  Yet,  when  her  hour  was  come, 
a  girl  was  born,  and  blind." 

"Was  she  welcomed?"  asked  the  dreaming  voice  of 
the  Emperor. 

"Augustness,  but  as  a  household  drudge.  For  her 
food  was  cruelty  and  her  drink  tears.  And  the  shrine 
of  the  Senju  Kwannon  was  neglected  by  her  parents 
because  of  the  disappointment  and  shame  of  the  un 
wanted  gift.  And  they  believed  that,  lost  in  Her 


THE  GLORY  OF  KWANNON          279 

divine  contemplation,  the  Great  Lady  would  not 
perceive  this  neglect.  The  Gods  however  are  known 
by  their  great  memories." 

"Her  name?" 

"Majesty,  Tsuyu — Morning  Dew.  And  like  the 
morning  dew  she  shines  in  stillness.  She  has  repaid 
good  for  evil  to  her  evil  parents,  serving  them  with 
unwearied  service." 

"What  distinguishes  her  from  others?" 

"Augustness,  a  very  great  peace.  Doubtless  the 
shadow  of  the  dream  of  the  Holy  Kwannon.  She 
works,  she  moves,  she  smiles,  as  one  who  has  tasted 
of  content." 

"Has  she  beauty?" 

"Supreme  Master,  am  I  not  blind?  But  it  is  said 
that  she  has  no  beauty  that  men  should  desire  her. 
Her  face  is  flat  and  round,  and  her  eyes  blind." 

"And  yet  content?" 

"Philosophers  might  envy  her  calm.  And  her 
blindness  is  without  doubt  a  grace  from  the  excelling 
Pity,  for  could  she  see  her  own  exceeding  ugliness 
she  must  weep  for  shame.  But  she  sees  not.  Her 
sight  is  inward,  and  she  is  well  content." 

"Where  does  she  dwell?" 

"Supreme  Majesty,  far  from  here — where  in  the 
heart  of  the  woods  the  river  breaks  through  the  rocks." 

"Venerable  One,  why  have  you  told  me  this?     I 


280  THE  GLORY  OF  KWANNON 

asked  for  a  royal  maiden  wise  and  beautiful,  calm 
as  the  dawn,  and  you  have  told  me  of  a  wood-cutter's 
drudge,  blind  and  ugly." 

And  now  Semimaru  did  not  answer,  but  the  tones 
of  the  biwa  grew  louder  and  clearer,  and  they  rang 
like  a  song  of  triumph,  and  the  Emperor  could  hear 
these  words  in  the  voice  of  the  strings. 

"She  is  beautiful  as  the  night,  crowned  with  moon 
and  stars  for  him  who  has  eyes  to  see.  Princess 
Splendour  was  dim  beside  her;  Prince  Fireshine, 
gloom!  Her  Shining  Majesty  was  but  a  darkened 
glory  before  this  maid.  All  beauty  shines  within 
her  hidden  eyes." 

And  having  uttered  this  the  music  became  wordless 
once  more,  but  it  still  flowed  on  more  and  more  softly 
like  a  river  that  flows  into  the  far  distance. 

The  Emperor  stared  at  the  mats,  musing — the  light 
of  the  lamp  was  burning  low.  His  heart  said  within 
him; 

"This  maiden,  cast  like  a  flower  from  the  hand  of 
Kwannon  Sama,  will  I  see." 

And  as  he  said  this  the  music  had  faded  away  into 
a  thread-like  smallness,  and  when  after  long  thought 
he  raised  his  august  head,  he  was  alone  save  for  the 
Dainagon,  sleeping  on  the  mats  behind  him,  and  the 
chamber  was  in  darkness.  Semimaru  had  departed 
in  silence,  and  His  Majesty,  looking  forth  into  the 
broad  moonlight,  could  see  the  track  of  his  feet  upon 


THE  GLORY  OF  KWANNON  281 

the  shining  snow,  and  the  music  came  back  very  thinly 
like  spring  rain  in  the  trees.  Once  more  he  looked 
at  the  whiteness  of  the  night,  and  then,  stretching  his 
august  person  on  the  mats,  he  slept  amid  dreams  of 
sweet  sound. 

The  next  day,  forbidding  any  to  follow  save  the 
Dainagon,  His  Majesty  went  forth  upon  the  frozen 
snow  where  the  sun  shone  in  a  blinding  whiteness. 
They  followed  the  track  of  Semimaru's  feet  far  under 
the  pine  trees  so  heavy  with  their  load  of  snow  that 
they  were  bowed  as  if  with  fruit.  And  the  track  led 
on  and  the  air  was  so  still  that  the  cracking  of  a  bough 
was  like  the  blow  of  a  hammer,  and  the  sliding  of  a 
load  of  snow  from  a  branch  like  the  fall  of  an 
avalanche.  Nor  did  they  speak  as  they  went.  They 
listened,  nor  could  they  say  for  what. 

Then,  when  they  had  gone  a  very  great  way,  the 
track  ceased  suddenly,  as  if  cut  off,  and  at  this  spot, 
under  the  pines  furred  with  snow,  His  Majesty  became 
aware  of  a  perfume  so  sweet  that  it  was  as  though  all 
the  flowers  of  the  earth  haunted  the  place  with  their 
presence,  and  a  music  like  the  biwa  of  Semimaru 
was  heard  in  the  tree  tops.  This  sounded  far  off  like 
the  whispering  of  rain  when  it  falls  in  very  small 
leaves,  and  presently  it  died  away,  and  a  voice 
followed  after,  singing,  alone  in  the  woods,  so  that 
the  silence  appeared  to  have  been  created  that  such  a 
music  might  possess  the  world.  So  the  Emperor 


282          THE  GLORY  OF  KWANNON 

stopped  instantly,  and  the  Dainagon  behind  him  and 
he  heard  these  words. 

"In  me  the  Heavenly  Lotos  grew, 

The  fibres  ran  from  head  to  feet, 

And  my  heart  was  the  august  Blossom. 

Therefore  the  sweetness  flowed  through  the  veins  of  my 

flesh, 

And  I  breathed  peace  upon  all  the  world, 
And  about  me  was  my  fragrance  shed 
That  the  souls  of  men  should  desire  me." 

Now,  as  he  listened,  there  came  through  the  wood 
a  maiden,  bare-footed,  save  for  grass  sandals,  and 
clad  in  coarse  clothing,  and  she  came  up  and  passed 
them,  still  singing. 

And  when  she  was  past,  His  Majesty  put  up  his 
hand  to  his  eyes,  like  one  dreaming,  and  said; 

"What  have  you  seen?" 

And  the  Dainagon  answered; 

"Augustness,  a  country  wench,  flat-faced,  ugly  and 
blind,  and  with  a  voice  like  a  crow.  Has  not  your 
Majesty  seen  this?" 

The  Emperor,  still  shading  his  eyes,  replied; 

"I  saw  a  maiden  so  beautiful  that  her  Shining 
Majesty  would  be  a  black  blot  beside  her.  As  she 
went,  the  Spring  and  all  its  sweetness  blew  from  her 
garments.  Her  robe  was  green  with  small  gold 
flowers.  Her  eyes  were  closed,  but  she  resembled  a 


THE  GLORY  OF  KWANNON  283 

cherry  tree,  snowy  with  bloom  and  dew.  Her  voice 
was  like  the  singing  flowers  of  Paradise." 

The  Dainagon  looked  at  him  with  fear  and  com 
passion  ; 

"Augustness,  how  should  such  a  lady  carry  in  her 
arms  a  bundle  of  fire- wood?" 

"She  bore  in  her  hand  three  lotos  flowers,  and 
where  each  foot  fell  I  saw  a  lotos  bloom  and  van 
ish." 

They  retraced  their  steps  through  the  wood;  His 
Majesty  radiant  as  Prince  Fireshine  with  the  joy  that 
filled  his  soul;  the  Dainagon  darkened  as  Prince 
Fire  fade  with  fear,  believing  that  the  strange  music 
of  Semimaru  had  bewitched  His  Majesty,  or  that  the 
maiden  herself  might  possibly  have  the  power  of  the 
fox  in  shape-changing  and  bewildering  the  senses. 

Very  sorrowful  and  careful  was  his  heart  for  he 
loved  his  Master. 

That  night  His  Majesty  dreamed  that  he  stood  be 
fore  the  kakemono  of  the  Amida  Buddha,  and  that  as 
he  raised  his  eyes  in  adoration  to  the  Blessed  Face,  he 
beheld  the  images  of  Fugen  and  Fudo,  rise  up  and 
bow  down  before  that  One  Who  Is.  Then,  gliding  in, 
before  these  Holinesses  stood  a  figure,  and  it  was 
the  woodcutter's  daughter  homely  and  blinded.  She 
stretched  her  hands  upward  as  though  invoking 
the  supreme  Buddha,  and  then  turning  to  His  Majesty 


284  THE  GLORY  OF  KWANNON 

she  smiled  upon  him,  her  eyes  closed  as  in  bliss  un 
utterable.  And  he  said  aloud. 

"Would  that  I  might  see  her  eyes!"  and  so  saying 
awoke  in  a  great  stillness  of  snow  and  moonlight. 

Having  waked,  he  said  within  himself 

"This  marvel  will  I  wed  and  she  shall  be  my 
Empress  were  she  lower  than  the  Eta,  and  whether 
her  face  be  lovely  or  homely.  For  she  is  certainly 
a  flower  dropped  from  the  hand  of  the  Divine." 

So  when  the  sun  was  high  His  Majesty,  again 
followed  by  the  Dainagon,  went  through  the  forest 
swiftly,  and  like  a  man  that  sees  his  goal,  and  when 
they  reached  the  place  where  the  maiden  went  by, 
His  Majesty  straitly  commanded  the  Dainagon  that  he 
should  draw  apart,  and  leave  him  to  speak  with  the 
maiden;  yet  that  he  should  watch  what  befell. 

So  the  Dainagon  watched,  and  again  he  saw  her 
come,  very  poorly  clad,  and  with  bare  feet  that  shrank 
from  the  snow  in  her  grass  sandals,  bowed  beneath  a 
heavy  load  of  wood  upon  her  shoulders,  and  her  face 
flat  and  homely  like  a  girl  of  the  people,  and  her  eyes 
blind  and  shut. 

And  as  she  came  she  sang  this. 

"The  Eternal  way  lies  before  him, 
The  way  that  is  made  manifest  in  the  Wise. 
The  Heart  that  loves  reveals  itself  to  man. 
For  now  he  draws  nigh  to  the  Source. 
The  night  advances  fast, 
And  lo !  the  moon  shines  bright." 


THE  GLORY  OF  KWANNON  285 

And  to  the  Dainagon  it  seemed  a  harsh  crying  nor 
could  he  distinguish  any  words  at  all. 

But  what  His  Majesty  beheld  was  this.  The 
evening  had  come  on  and  the  moon  was  rising.  The 
snow  had  gone.  It  was  the  full  glory  of  spring,  and 
the  flowers  sprang  thick  as  stars  upon  the  grass,  and 
among  them  lotos  flowers,  great  as  the  wheel  of  a 
chariot,  white  and  shining  with  the  luminance  of  the 
pearl,  and  upon  each  one  of  these  was  seated  an 
incarnate  Holiness,  looking  upward  with  joined 
hands.  In  the  trees  were  the  voices  of  the  mystic 
Birds  that  are  the  utterance  of  the  Blessed  One,  pro 
claiming  in  harmony  the  Five  Virtues,  The  Five 
Powers,  the  Seven  Steps  ascending  to  perfect 
Illumination,  the  Noble  Eightfold  Path,  and  all  the 
Law.  And,  hearing,  in  the  heart  of  the  Son  of 
Heaven  awoke  the  Three  Remembrances — the 
Remembrance  of  Him  who  is  Blessed,  Remembrance 
of  the  Law,  and  Remembrance  of  the  Communion  of 
the  Assembly. 

So,  looking  upward  to  the  heavens,  he  beheld  the 
Infinite  Buddha,  high  and  lifted  up  in  a  great  raying 
glory.  About  Him  were  the  exalted  Bodhisattwas, 
the  mighty  Disciples,  great  Arhats  all,  and  all  the 
countless  Angelhood.  And  these  rose  high  into  the 
infinite  until  they  could  be  seen  but  as  a  point  of  fire 
against  the  moon.  With  this  golden  multitude  be 
yond  all  numbering  was  He. 


286          THE  GLORY  OF  KWANNON 

Then,  as  His  Majesty  had  seen  in  the  dream  of  the 
night,  the  wood-cutter's  daughter,  moving  through  the 
flowers  like  one  blind  that  gropes  his  way,  advanced 
before  the  Blessed  Feet,  and  uplifting  her  hands, 
did  adoration,  and  her  face  he  could  not  see, 
but  his  heart  went  with  her,  adoring  also  the  in 
finite  Buddha  seated  in  the  calms  of  boundless 
Light. 

Then  enlightenment  entered  at  his  eyes,  as  a  man 
that  wakes  from  sleep,  and  suddenly  he  beheld  the 
Maiden  crowned  and  robed  and  terrible  in  beauty,  and 
her  feet  were  stayed  upon  an  open  lotos,  and  his  soul 
knew  the  Senju  Kwannon  Herself,  myriad-armed  for 
the  helping  of  mankind. 

And  turning,  she  smiled  as  in  the  vision,  but  his 
eyes  being  now  clear  her  blinded  eyes  were  opened, 
and  that  glory  who  shall  tell  as  those  living  founts  of 
Wisdom  rayed  upon  him  their  ineffable  light?  In 
that  ocean  was  his  being  drowned,  and  so,  bowed 
before  the  Infinite  Buddha,  he  received  the  Greater 
Illumination. 

How  great  is  the  Glory  of  Kwannon! 

When  the  radiance  and  the  vision  were  withdrawn 
and  only  the  moon  looked  over  the  trees,  His  Majesty 
rose  upon  his  feet,  and  standing  on  the  snow,  sur 
rounded  with  calm,  he  called  to  the  Dainagon,  and 
asked  this; 

"What  have  ydu  seen?" 


THE  GLORY  OF  KWANNON  287 

"Augustness,  nothing  but  the  country  wench  and 
moon  and  snow." 

"And  heard?" 

"Augustness,  nothing  but  the  harsh  voice  of  the 
woodcutter's  daughter." 

"And  felt?" 

"Augustness,  nothing  but  the  bone-piercing  cold." 

So  His  Majesty  adored  that  which  cannot  be 
uttered,  saying; 

"So  Wisdom,  so  Glory  encompass  us  about,  and  we 
see  them  not  for  we  are  blinded  with  illusion.  Yet 
every  stone  is  a  jewel  and  every  clod  is  spirit  and  to 
the  hems  of  the  Infinite  Buddha  all  cling.  Through 
the  compassion  of  the  Supernal  Mercy  that  walks  the 
earth  as  the  Bodhisattwa  Kwannon,  am  I  admitted  to 
wisdom  and  given  sight  and  hearing.  And  what  is 
all  the  world  to  that  happy  one  who  has  beheld  Her 
eyes!" 

And  His  Majesty  returned  through  the  forest. 

When,  the  next  day,  he  sent  for  the  venerable 
Semimaru  that  holy  recluse  had  departed  and  none 
knew  where.  But  still  when  the  moon  is  full  a  strange 
music  moves  in  the  tree  tops  of  Shiobara. 

Then  His  sacred  Majesty  returned  to  City-Royal, 
having  determined  to  retire  into  the  quiet  life,  and 
there,  abandoning  the  throne  to  a  kinsman  wise  in 
greatness,  he  became  a  dweller  in  the  deserted  hut  of 
Semimaru.  i 


288          THE  GLORY  OF  KWANNON 

His  life,  like  a  descending  moon  approaching  the 
hill  that  should  hide  it,  was  passed  in  meditation  on 
•that  Incarnate  Love  and  Compassion  whose  glory  had 
augustly  been  made  known  to  him,  and  having  cast 
aside  all  save  the  image  of  the  Divine  from  his  soul, 
His  Majesty  became  even  as  that  man  who  desired 
enlightenment  of  the  Blessed  One. 

For  he,  desiring  instruction,  gathered  precious 
flowers,  and  journeyed  to  present  them  as  an  offering 
to  the  Gautama  Buddha.  Standing  before  Him,  he 
stretched  forth  both  his  hands  holding  the  flowers. 

Then  said  the  Holy  One,  looking  upon  his 
petitioner's  right  hand ; 

"Loose  your  hold  of  these." 

And  the  man  dropped  the  flowers  from  his  right 
hand.  And  the  Holy  One  looking  upon  his  left  hand, 
said; 

"Loose  your  hold  of  these." 

And,  sorrowing,  he  dropped  the  flowers  from  his 
left  hand.  And  again  the  Master  said; 

"Loose  your  hold  of  that  which  is  neither  in  the 
right  nor  in  the  left." 

And  the  disciple  said  very  pitifully; 

"Lord,  of  what  should  I  loose  my  hold  for  I  have 
nothing  left?" 

And  He  looked  upon  him  steadfastly. 

Therefore  at  last  understanding  he  emptied  his 
soul  of  all  desire,  and  of  fear  that  is  the  shadow  of 


THE  GLORY  OF  KWANNON          289 

desire,  and  being  enlightened  relinquished  all  burdens. 

So  was  it  also  with  His  Majesty.  In  peace  he 
dwelt,  and  becoming  a  great  Arhat,  in  peace  he  de 
parted  to  that  Uttermost  Joy  where  is  the  Blessed  One* 
made  manifest  in  Pure  Light. 

As  for  the  parents  of  the  maiden,  they  entered  after 
sore  troubles  into  peace,  having  been  remembered  by 
the  Infinite.  For  it  is  certain  that  the  enemies  also 
of  the  Supreme  Buddha  go  to  salvation  by  thinking 
on  Him,  even  though  it  be  against  Him. 

And  he  who  tells  this  truth  makes  this  prayer  to  the 
Lady  of  Pity; 

"Grant  me,  I  pray, 
One  dewdrop  from  Thy  willow  spray, 

And  in  the  double  Lotos  keep 
My  hidden  heart   asleep." 

How  great  is  the  Glory  of  Kwannon! 


THE  ROUND-FACED  BEAUTY. 


THE  ROUND-FACED  BEAUTY 

A  STORY  OF  THE  CHINESE  COURT 

IN  the  city  of  Chang-an  music  filled  the  palaces, 
and  the  festivities  of  the  Emperor  were  meas 
ured  by  its  beat.  Night,  and  the  full  moon 
swimming  like  a  gold-fish  in  the  garden  lakes,  gave 
the  signal  for  the  Feather  Jacket  and  Rainbow  Skirt 
dances.  Morning,  with  the  rising  sun,  summoned 
the  court  again  to  the  feast  and  wine-cup  in  the  float 
ing  gardens. 

The  Emperor  Chung  Tsu  favoured  this  city  be 
fore  all  others.  The  Yen  Tower  soaring  heaven 
ward,  the  Drum  Towers,  the  Pearl  Pagoda,  were  the 
only  fit  surroundings  of  his  magnificence;  and  in  the 
Pavilion  of  Tranquil  Learning  were  held  those  dis 
cussions  which  enlightened  the  world  and  spread  the 
fame  of  the  Jade  Emperor  far  and  wide.  In  all 
respects  he  adorned  the  Dragon  Throne — in  all  but 
one;  for  Nature,  bestowing  so  much,  withheld  one 
gift,  and  the  Imperial  heart,  as  precious  as  jade, 
was  also  as  hard,  and  he  eschewed  utterly  the  com 
pany  of  the  Hidden  Palace  Flowers. 

Yet  the  Inner  Chambers  were  filled  with  ladies 

203 


294         THE  ROUND-FACED  BEAUTY 

chosen  from  all  parts  of  the  Celestial  Empire — 
ladies  of  the  most  exquisite  and  torturing  beauty, 
moons  of  loveliness,  moving  coquettishly  on  little 
feet,  with  all  the  grace  of  willow  branches  in  a 
light  breeze.  They  were  sprinkled  with  perfumes, 
adorned  with  jewels,  robed  in  silks  woven  with 
gold  and  embroidered  with  designs  of  flowers 
and  birds.  Their  faces  were  painted  and  their 
eyebrows  formed  into  slender  and  perfect  arches 
whence  the  soul  of  man  might  well  slip  to  per 
dition,  and  a  breath  of  sweet  odour  followed  each 
wherever  she  moved.  Every  one  might  have  been 
the  Empress  of  some  lesser  kingdom;  but  though 
rumours  reached  the  Son  of  Heaven  from  time  to 
time  of  their  charms, — especially  when  some  new 
blossom  was  added  to  the  Imperial  bouquet, — he 
had  dismissed  them  from  his  august  thoughts,  and 
they  languished  in  a  neglect  so  complete  that  the 
Great  Cold  Palaces  of  the  Moon  were  not  more 
empty  than  their  hearts.  They  remained  under  the 
supervision  of  the  Princess  of  Han,  August  Aunt  of 
the  Emperor,  knowing  that  their  Lord  considered  the 
company  of  sleeve-dogs  and  macaws  more  pleasant 
than  their  own.  Nor  had  he  as  yet  chosen  an  Em 
press,  and  it  was  evident  that  without  some  miracle, 
such  as  the  intervention  of  the  Municipal  God,  no 
heir  to  the  throne  could  be  hoped  for. 

Yet  the  Emperor  one   day   remembered  his  im- 


THE  ROUND-FACED  BEAUTY         295 

prisoned  beauties,  and  it  crossed  the  Imperial 
thoughts  that  even  these  inferior  creatures  might  af 
ford  such  interest  as  may  be  found  in  the  gambols  of 
trained  fleas  or  other  insects  of  no  natural  attain 
ments. 

Accordingly,  he  commanded  that  the  subject  last 
discussed  in  his  presence  should  be  transferred  to 
the  Inner  Chambers,  and  it  was  his  Order  that  the 
ladies  should  also  discuss  it,  and  their  opinions  be 
engraved  on  ivory,  bound  together  with  red  silk 
and  tassels  and  thus  presented  at  the  Dragon  feet. 
The  subject  chosen  was  the  following: — 

Describe  the  Qualities  of  the  Ideal  Man 

Now  when  this  command  was  laid  before  the 
August  Aunt,  the  guardian  of  the  Inner  Chambers, 
she  was  much  perturbed  in  mind,  for  such  a  thing 
was  unheard  of  in  all  the  annals  of  the  Empire.  Re 
covering  herself,  she  ventured  to  say  that  the  dis 
cussion  of  such  a  question  might  raise  very  disquiet 
ing  thoughts  in  the  minds  of  the  ladies,  who  could 
not  be  supposed  to  have  any  opinions  at  all  on  such 
a  subject.  Nor  was  it  desirable  that  they  should 
have.  To  every  woman  her  husband  and  no  other 
is  and  must  be  the  Ideal  Man.  So  it  was  always  in 
the  past;  so  it  must  ever  be.  There  are  certain 
things  which  it  is  dangerous  to  question  or  discuss, 
and  how  can  ladies  who  have  never  spoken  with  any 


296         THE  ROUND-FACED  BEAUTY 

other  man  than  a  parent  or  a  brother  judge  such 
matters? 

"How,  indeed,"  asked  this  lady  of  exalted  merit, 
"can  the  bat  form  an  idea  of  the  sunlight,  or  the  carp 
of  the  motion  of  wings?  If  his  Celestial  Majesty 
had  commanded  a  discussion  on  the  Superior  Woman 
and  the  virtues  which  should  adorn  her,  some  senti 
ments  not  wholly  unworthy  might  have  been  offered. 
But  this  is  a  calamity.  They  come  unexpectedly, 
springing  up  like  mushrooms,  and  this  one  is  probably 
due  to  the  lack  of  virtue  of  the  inelegant  and  un- 
intellectual  person  who  is  now  speaking." 

This  she  uttered  in  the  presence  of  the  principal 
beauties  of  the  Inner  Chambers.  They  sat  or  re 
clined  about  her  in  attitudes  of  perfect  loveliness. 
Two,  embroidering  silver  pheasants,  paused  with 
their  needles  suspended  above  the  stretched  silk,  to 
hear  the  August  Aunt.  One,  threading  beads  of 
jewel  jade,  permitted  them  to  slip  from  the  string  and 
so  distended  the  rose  of  her  mouth  in  surprise  that 
the  small  pearl-shells  were  visible  within.  The  Lady 
Tortoise,  caressing  a  scarlet  and  azure  macaw,  in 
her  agitation  so  twitched  the  feathers  that  the  bird, 
shrieking,  bit  her  finger.  The  Lady  Golden  Bells 
blushed  deeply  at  the  thought  of  what  was  required 
of  them ;  and  the  little  Lady  Summer  Dress,  youngest 
of  all  the  assembled  beauties,  was  so  alarmed  at  the 


THE  ROUND-FACED  BEAUTT        297 

prospect  that  she  began  to  sob  aloud,  until  she  met 
the  eye  of  the  August  Aunt  and  abruptly  ceased. 

"It  is  not,  however,  to  be  supposed,"  said  the 
August  Aunt,  opening;  her  snuff -bottle  of  painted 
crystal,  "that  the  minds  of  our  deplorable  and  un 
attractive  sex  are  wholly  incapable  of  forming  opin 
ions.  But  speech  is  a  grave  matter  for  women,  nat 
urally  slow-witted  and  feeble-minded  as  they  are. 
This  unenlightened  person  recalls  the  Odes  as  say 
ing: — 

'A  flaw  in  a  piece  of  white  jade 

May  be  ground  away, 

But  when  a  woman  has  spoken  foolishly 

Nothing  can  be  done — ' 

a  consideration  which  should  make  every  lady  here 
and  throughout  the  world  think  anxiously  before 
speech." 

So  anxiously  did  the  assembled  beauties  think,  that 
all  remained  mute  as  fish  in  a  pool,  and  the  Aug 
ust  Aunt  continued: — 

"Let  Tsu-ssu  be  summoned.  It  is  my  intention  to 
suggest  to  the  Dragon  Emperor  that  the  virtues  of 
women  be  the  subject  of  our  discourse,  and  I  will 
myself  open  and  conclude  the  discussion." 

Tsu-ssu  was  not  long  in  kotowing  before  the 
August  Aunt,  who  dispatched  her  message  with  the 
proper  ceremonial  due  to  its  Imperial  destination; 


298         THE  ROUND-FACED  BEAUTY 

and  meanwhile,  in  much  agitation,  the  beauties  could 
but  twitter  and  whisper  in  each  other's  ears,  and 
await  the  response  like  condemned  prisoners  who  yet 
hope  for  a  reprieve. 

Scarce  an  hour  had  dripped  away  on  the  water- 
clock  when  an  Imperial  Missive  bound  with  yellow 
silk  arrived,  and  the  August  Aunt,  rising,  kotowed 
nine  times  before  she  received  it  in  her  jewelled  hand 
with  its  delicate  and  lengthy  nails  ensheathed  in  pure 
gold  and  set  with  gems  of  the  first  water.  She  then 
read  it  aloud,  the  ladies  prostrating  themselves. 

To  the  Princess  of  Han,  the  August  Aunt,  the  Lady 

of  the  Nine  Superior  Virtues: — 

"Having  deeply  reflected  on  the  wisdom  submitted, 
We  thus  reply.  Women  should  not  be  the  judges  of 
their  own  virtues,  since  these  exist  only  in  relation  to 
men.  Let  Our  Command  therefore  be  executed,  and 
tablets  presented  before  us  seven  days  hence,  with 
the  name  of  each  lady  appended  to  her  tablet." 

It  was  indeed  pitiable  to  see  the  anxiety  of  the 
ladies!  A  sacrifice  to  Kwan-Yin,  the  Goddess  of 
Mercy,  of  a  jewel  from  each,  with  intercession  for 
aid,  was  proposed  by  the  Lustrous  Lady;  but  the 
majority  shook  their  heads  sadly.  The  August  Aunt, 
tossing  her  head,  declared  that,  as  the  Son  of  Heaven 
had  made  no  comment  on  her  proposal  of  opening 
and  closing  the  discussion,  she  should  take  no  part 


THE  ROUND-FACED  BEAUTY         299 

other  than  safeguarding  the  interests  of  propriety. 
This  much  increased  the  alarm,  and,  kneeling  at  her 
feet,  the  swan-like  beauties,  Deep-Snow  and  Winter 
(Moon,  implored  her  aid  and  compassion.  But,  rising 
indignantly,  the  August  Aunt  sought  her  own  apart 
ments,  and  for  the  first  time  the  inmates  of  the  Pep 
per  Chamber  saw  with  regret  the  golden  dragons 
embroidered  on  her  back. 

It  was  then  that  the  Round-Faced  Beauty  ventured 
a  remark.  This  maiden,  having  been  born  in  the 
far-off  province  of  Ssuch-uan,  was  considered  a  rus 
tic  by  the  distinguished  elegance  of  the  Palace  and, 
therefore,  had  never  spoken  unless  decorum  required. 
Still,  even  her  detractors  were  compelled  to  admit 
the  charms  that  had  gained  her  her  name.  Her  face 
had  the  flawless  outline  of  the  pearl,  and  like  the 
blossom  of  the  plum  was  the  purity  of  her  com 
plexion,  upon  which  the  darkness  of  her  eyebrows 
resembled  two  silk-moths  alighted  to  flutter  above 
the  brilliance  of  her  eyes — eyes  which  even  the  Aug 
ust  Aunt  had  commended  after  a  banquet  of  unsur 
passed  variety.  Her  hair  had  been  compared  to  the 
crow's  plumage;  her  waist  was  like  a  roll  of  silk, 
and  her  discretion  in  habiting  herself  was  such  that 
even  the  Lustrous  Lady  and  the  Lady  Tortoise  drew 
instruction  from  the  splendours  of  her  robes.  It  cre 
ated,  however,  a  general  astonishment  when  she 
spoke. 


300         THE  ROUND-FACED  BEAUTY 

"Paragons  of  beauty,  what  is  this  dull  and  opaque- 
witted  person  that  she  should  speak?" 

"What,  indeed!"  said  the  Celestial  Sister.  "This 
entirely  undistinguished  person  cannot  even  im- 
magine." 

A  distressing  pause  followed,  during  which  many 
whispered  anxiously.  The  Lustrous  Lady  broke  it. 

"It  is  true  that  the  highly  ornamental  Round-Faced 
Beauty  is  but  lately  come,  yet  even  the  intelligent 
Ant  may  assist  the  Dragon;  and  in  the  presence  of 
alarm,  what  is  decorum?  With  a  tiger  behind  one, 
who  can  recall  the  Book  of  Rites  and  act  with  be 
fitting  elegance?" 

"The  high-born  will  at  all  times  remember  the 
Rites!"  retorted  the  Celestial  Sister.  "Have  we  not 
heard  the  August  Aunt  observe:  Those  who  under 
stand  do  not  speak.  Those  who  speak  do  not  under 
stand'?" 

The  Round-Faced  Beauty  collected  her  courage. 

"Doubtless  this  is  wisdom;  yet  if  the  wise  do  not 
speak,  who  should  instruct  us?  The  August  Aunt 
herself  would  be  silent." 

All  were  confounded  by  this  dilemma,  and  the 
little  Lady  Summer-Dress,  still  weeping,  entreated 
that  the  Round-Faced  Beauty  might  be  heard.  The 
Heavenly  Blossoms  then  prepared  to  listen  and  as 
sumed  attitudes  of  attention,  which  so  disconcerted 


THE  ROUND-FACED  BEAUTY        301 

the  Round-Faced  Beauty  that  she  blushed!  like  a 
spring  tulip  in  speaking. 

"Beautiful  ladies,  our  Lord,  who  is  unknown  to 
us  all,  has  issued  an  august  command.  It  cannot  be 
disputed,  for  the  whisper  of  disobedience  is  heard 
as  thunder  in  the  Imperial  Presence.  Should  we  not 
aid  each  other?  If  any  lady  has  formed  a  dream  in 
her  soul  of  the  Ideal  Man,  might  not  such  a  picture 
aid  us  all?  Let  us  not  be  'say-nothing-do-nothing,' 
but  act!" 

They  hung  their  heads  and  smiled,  but  none  would 
allow  that  she  had  formed  such  an  image.  The  little 
Lady  Tortoise,  laughing  behind  her  fan  of  sandal- 
wood,  said  roguishly:  "The  Ideal  Man  should  be 
handsome,  liberal  in  giving,  and  assuredly  he  should 
appreciate  the  beauty  of  his  wives.  But  this  we  can 
not  say  to  the  Divine  Emperor." 

A  sigh  rustled  through  the  Pepper  Chamber.  The 
Celestial  Sister  looked  angrily  at  the  speaker. 

"This  is  the  talk  of  children,"  she  said.  "Does 
no  one  remember  Kung-fu-tse's  [Confucius]  des 
cription  of  the  Superior  Man?" 

Unfortunately  none  did — not  even  the  Celestial 
Sister  herself. 

"Is  it  not  probable,"  asked  the  Round-Faced 
Beauty,  "that  the  Divine  Emperor  remembers  it  him 
self  and  wishes — " 


302         THE  ROUND-FACED  BEAUTY 

But  the  Celestial  Sister,  yawning  audibly,  sum 
moned  the  attendants  to  bring  rose-leaves  in  honey, 
and  would  hear  no  more. 

The  Round-Faced  Beauty  therefore  wandered  forth 
among  the  mossy  rocks  and  drooping  willows  of  the 
Imperial  Garden,  deeply  considering  the  matter. 
She  ascended  the  bow-curved  bridge  of  marble  which 
crossed  the  Pool  of  Clear  Weather,  and  from  the  top 
idly  observed  the  reflection  of  her  rose-and-gold  coat 
in  the  water  while,  with  her  taper  fingers,  she 
crumbled  cake  for  the  fortunate  gold-fish  that  dwelt 
in  it.  And,  so  doing,  she  remarked  one  fish,  four- 
tailed  among  the  six-tailed,  and  in  no  way  distin 
guished  by  elegance,  which  secured  by  far  the  largest 
share  of  the  crumbs  dropped  into  the  pool.  Bend 
ing  lower,  she  observed  this  singular  fish  and  its 
methods. 

The  others  crowded  about  the  spot  where  the 
crumbs  fell,  all  herded  together.  In  their  eagerness 
and  stupidity  they  remained  like  a  cloud  of  gold  in 
one  spot,  slowly  waving  their  tails.  But  this  fish, 
concealing  itself  behind  a  miniature  rock,  waited, 
looking  upward,  until  the  crumbs  were  falling,  and 
then,  rushing  forth  with  the  speed  of  an  arrow,  scat 
tered  the  stupid  mass  of  fish,  and  bore  off  the  crumbs 
to  its  shelter,  where  it  instantly  devoured  them. 

"This  is  notable,"  said  the  Round-Faced  Beauty. 
"Observation  enlightens  the  mind.  To  be  apart — 


THE  ROUND-FACED  BEAUTY         303 

to  be  distinguished — secures  notice!"  And  she 
plunged  into  thought  again,  wandering,  herself  a 
flower,  among  the  gorgeous  tree  paeonies. 

On  the  following  day  the  August  Aunt  commanded 
that  a  writer  among  the  palace  attendants  should, 
with  brush  and  ink,  be  summoned  to  transcribe  the 
wisdom  of  the  ladies.  She  requested  that  each 
would  give  three  days  to  thought,  relating  the  follow 
ing  anecdote.  "There  was  a  man  who,  taking  a  piece 
of  ivoiy,  carved  it  into  a  mulberry  leaf,  spending 
three  years  on  the  task.  When  finished  it  could  not 
be  told  from  the  original,  and  was  a  gift  suitable  for 
the  Brother  of  the  Sun  and  Moon.  Do  likewise!" 

"But  yet,  0  Augustness!"  said  the  Celestial  Sister, 
"if  the  Lord  of  Heaven  took  as  long  with  each  leaf, 
there  would  be  few  leaves  on  the  trees,  and  if — " 

The  August  Aunt  immediately  commanded  silence 
and  retired.  On  the  third  day  she  seated  herself  in 
her  chair  of  carved  ebony,  while  the  attendant  placed 
himself  by  her  feet  and  prepared  to  record  her  words. 

"This  insignificant  person  has  decided,"  began  her 
Augustness,  looking  round  and  unscrewing  the  amber 
top  of  her  snuff-bottle,  "to  take  an  unintelligent  part 
in  these  proceedings.  An  example  should  be  set. 
Attendant,  write!" 

She  then  dictated  as  follows:  "The  Ideal  Man  is 
he  who  now  decorates  the  Imperial  Throne,  or  he  who 
in  all  humility  ventures  to  resemble  the  incompar- 


304        THE  ROUND-FACED  BEAUTY 

able  Emperor.  Though  he  may  not  hope  to  attain, 
his  endeavour  is  his  merit.  No  further  description 
is  needed." 

With  complacence  she  inhaled  the  perfumed  snuff, 
as  the  writer  appended  the  elegant  characters  of  her 
Imperial  name. 

If  it  be  permissible  to  say  that  the  faces  of  the 
beauties  lengthened  visibly,  it  should  now  be  said. 
For  it  had  been  the  intention  of  every  lady  to  make 
an  allusion  to  the  Celestial  Emperor  and  depict  him 
as  the  Ideal  Man.  Nor  had  they  expected  that  the 
August  Aunt  would  take  any  part  in  the  matter. 

"Oh,  but  it  was  the  intention  of  this  commonplace 
and  undignified  person  to  say  this  very  thing!"  cried 
the  Lustrous  Lady,  with  tears  in  the  jewels  of  her 
eyes.  "I  thought  no  other  high-minded  and  distin 
guished  lady  would  for  a  moment  think  of  it!" 

"And  it  was  my  intention  also!"  fluttered  the  little 
Lady  Tortoise,  wringing  her  hands!  "What  now 
shall  this  most  unlucky  and  unendurable  person  do? 
For  three  nights  has  sleep  forsaken  my  unattractive 
eyelids,  and,  tossing  and  turning  on  a  couch  deprived 
of  all  comfort,  I  could  only  repeat,  'The  Ideal  Man 
is  the  Divine  Dragon  Emperor!' ' 

4VMay  one  of  entirely  contemptible  attainments 
make  a  suggestion  in  this  assemblage  of  scintillating 
wit  and  beauty?"  inquired  the  Celestial  Sister.  "My 
superficial  opinion  is  that  it  would  be  well  to  prepare 


THE  ROUND-FACED  BEAUTY          305 

a  single  paper  to  which  all  names  should  be  ap 
pended,  stating  that  His  Majesty  in  his  Dragon  Divin 
ity  comprises  all  ideals  in  his  sacred  Person." 

"Let  those  words  be  recorded,"  said  the  August 
Aunt.  "What  else  should  any  lady  of  discretion 
and  propriety  say?  In  this  Palace  of  Virtuous 
Peace,  where  all  is  consecrated  to  the  Son  of  Heaven, 
though  he  deigns  not  to  enter  it,  what  other  thought 
dare  be  breathed?  Has  any  lady  ventured  to  step 
outside  such  a  limit?  If  so,  let  her  declare  her 
self!" 

All  shook  their  heads,  and  the  August  Aunt  pro 
ceeded:  "Let  the  writer  record  this  as  the  opinion 
of  every  lady  of  the  Imperial  Household,  and  let 
each  name  be  separately  appended." 

Had  any  desired  to  object,  none  dared  to  confront 
the  August  Aunt;  but  apparently  no  beauty  so  de 
sired,  for  after  three  nights'  sleepless  meditation,  no 
other  thought  than  this  had  occurred  to  any. 

Accordingly,  the  writer  moved  from  lady  to  lady 
and,  under  the  supervision  of  the  August  Aunt,  tran 
scribed  the  following:  "The  Ideal  Man  is  the  earthly 
likeness  of  the  Divine  Emperor.  How  should  it  be 
otherwise?"  And  under  this  sentence  wrote  the  name 
of  each  lovely  one  in  succession.  The  papers  were 
then  placed  in  the  hanging  sleeves  of  the  August 
Aunt  for  safety. 

By  the  decree  of  Fate,  the  father  of  the  Round- 


306         THE  ROUND-FACED  BEAUTY 

Faced  Beauty  had,  before  he  became  an  ancestral 
spirit,  been  a  scholar  of  distinction,  having  graduated 
at  the  age  of  seventy-two  with  a  composition  com 
mended  by  the  Grand  Examiner.  Having  no  gold 
and  silver  to  give  his  daughter,  he  had  formed  her 
mind,  and  had  presented  her  with  the  sole  jewel  of 
his  family — a  pearl  as  large  as  a  bean.  Such  was 
her  sole  dower,  but  the  accomplished  Ant  may  excel 
the  indolent  Prince. 

Yet,  before  the  thought  in  her  mind,  she  hesitated 
and  trembled,  recalling  the  lesson  of  the  gold-fish; 
and  it  was  with  anxiety  that  paled  her  roseate  lips 
that,  on  a  certain  day,  she  had  sought  the  Willow 
Bridge  Pavilion.  There  had  awaited  her  a  palace 
attendant  skilled  with  the  brush,  and  there  in  secrecy 
and  dire  affright,  hearing  the  footstep  of  the  August 
Aunt  in  every  rustle  of  leafage,  and  her  voice  in  the 
call  of  every  crow,  did  the  Round-Faced  Beauty  dic 
tate  the  following  composition: — 

"Though  the  sky  rain  pearls,  it  cannot  equal  the 
beneficence  of  the  Son  of  Heaven.  Though  the  sky 
rain  jade  it  cannot  equal  his  magnificence.  He  has 
commanded  his  slave  to  describe  the  qualities  of  the 
Ideal  Man.  How  should  I,  a  mere  woman,  do  this? 
I,  who  have  not  seen  the  Divine  Emperor,  how  should 
I  know  what  is  virtue?  I,  who  have  not  seen  the 
glory  of  his  countenance,  how  should  I  know  what  is 


THE  ROUND-FACED  BEAUTY          307 

beauty?  Report  speaks  of  his  excellencies,  but  I 
who  live  in  the  dark  know  not.  But  to  the  Ideal 
Woman,  the  very  vices  of  her  husband  are  virtues. 
Should  he  exalt  another,  this  is  a  mark  of  his  supe 
rior  taste.  Should  he  dismiss  his  slave,  this  is  jus 
tice.  To  the  Ideal  Woman  there  is  but  one  Ideal 
Man — and  that  is  her  lord.  From  the  day  she 
crosses  his  threshold,  to  the  day  when  they  clothe 
her  in  the  garments  of  Immortality,  this  is  her  sole 
opinion.  Yet  would  that  she  might  receive  instruc 
tion  of  what  only  are  beauty  and  virtue  in  his  ador 
able  presence." 

This  being  written,  she  presented  her  one  pearl 
to  the  attendant  and  fled,  not  looking  behind  her,  as 
quickly  as  her  delicate  feet  would  permit. 

On  the  seventh  day  the  compositions,  engraved  on 
ivory  and  bound  with  red  silk  and  tassels,  were  pre 
sented  to  the  Emperor,  and  for  seven  days  more  he 
forgot  their  existence.  On  the  eighth  the  High 
Chamberlain  ventured  to  recall  them  to  the  Imperial 
memory,  and  the  Emperor  glancing  slightly  at  one 
after  another,  threw  them  aside,  yawning  as  he  did 
so.  Finally,  one  arrested  his  eyes,  and  reading  it 
more  than  once  he  laid  it  before  him  and  meditated. 
An  hour  passed  in  this  way  while  the  forgotten  Lord 
Chamberlain  continued  to  kneel.  The  Son  of 
Heaven,  then  raising  his  head,  pronounced  these 


308         THE  ROUND-FACED  BEAUTY 

words:  "In  the  society  of  the  Ideal  Woman,  she  to 
whom  jealousy  is  unknown,  tranquillity  might  pos 
sibly  be  obtained.  Let  prayer  be  made  before  the 
Ancestors  with  the  customary  offerings,  for  this  is 
a  matter  deserving  attention." 

A  few  days  passed,  and  an  Imperial  attendant,  es 
corted  by  two  mandarins  of  the  peacock-feather  and 
crystal-button  rank,  desired  an  audience  of  the  Aug 
ust  Aunt,  and,  speaking  before  the  curtain,  informed 
her  that  his  Imperial  Majesty  would  pay  a  visit  that 
evening  to  the  Hall  of  Tranquil  Longevity.  Such 
was  her  agitation  at  this  honour  that  she  immediately 
swooned;  but,  reviving,  summoned  all  the  attendants 
and  gave  orders  for  a  banquet  and  musicians. 

Lanterns  painted  with  pheasants  and  exquisite 
landscapes  were  hung  on  all  the  pavilions.  Tap 
estries  of  rose,  decorated  with  the  Five-Clawed  Dra 
gons,  adorned  the  chambers;  and  upon  the  High  Seat 
was  placed  a  robe  of  yellow  satin  embroidered  with 
pearls.  All  was  hurry  and  excitement.  The  Blos 
soms  of  the  Palace  were  so  exquisitely  decked  that 
one  grain  more  of  powder  would  have  made  them 
too  lily-like,  and  one  touch  more  of  rouge,  too  rose- 
cheeked.  It  was  indeed  perfection,  and,  like  lotuses 
upon  a  lake,  or  Asian  birds,  gorgeous  of  plumage, 
they  stood  ranged  in  the  outer  chamber  while  the 
Celestial  Emperor  took  his  seat. 

The  Round-Faced  Beauty  wore  no  jewels,  having 


THE  ROUND-FACED  BEAUTY  -       309 

bartered  her  pearl  for  her  opportunity;  but  her  long 
coat  of  jade-green,  embroidered  with  golden  willows, 
and  her  trousers  of  palest  rose  left  nothing  to  be 
desired.  In  her  hair  two  golden  paeonies  were 
fastened  with  pins  of  kingfisher  work.  The  Son  of 
Heaven  was  seated  upon  the  throne  as  the  ladies  ap 
proached,  marshalled  by  the  August  Aunt.  He  was 
attired  in  the  Yellow  Robe  with  the  Flying  Dragons, 
and  upon  the  Imperial  Head  was  the  Cap,  orna 
mented  with  one  hundred  and  forty-four  priceless 
gems.  From  it  hung  the  twelve  pendants  of  strings 
of  pearls,  partly  concealing  the  august  eyes  of  the 
Jade  Emperor.  No  greater  splendour  can  strike  awe 
into  the  soul  of  man. 

At  his  command  the  August  Aunt  took  her  seat 
upon  a  lesser  chair  at  the  Celestial  Feet.  Her  mien 
was  majestic,  and  struck  awe  into  the  assembled 
beauties,  whose  names  she  spoke  aloud  as  each  ap 
proached  and  prostrated  herself.  She  then  pro 
nounced  these  words: 

"Beautiful  ones,  the  Emperor,  having  considered 
the  opinions  submitted  by  you  on  the  subject  of  the 
Superior  Man,  is  pleased  to  express  his  august  com 
mendation.  Dismiss,  therefore,  anxiety  from  your 
minds,  and  prepare  to  assist  at  the  humble  concert 
of  music  we  have  prepared  for  his  Divine  pleasure." 

Slightly  raising  himself  in  his  chair,  the  Son  of 
Heaven  looked  down  upon  that  Garden  of  Beauty, 


310         THE  ROUND-FACED  BEAUTY 

holding  in  his  hand  an  ivory  tablet  bound  with  red 
silk. 

"Lovely  ladies,"  he  began,  in  a  voice  that  assuaged 
fear,  "who  among  you  was  it  that  laid  before  our 
feet  a  composition  beginning  thus — 'Though  the  sky 
rain  pearls'?" 

The  August  Aunt  immediately  rose. 

"Imperial  Majesty,  none!  These  eyes  supervised 
every  composition.  No  impropriety  was  permitted." 

The  Son  of  Heaven  resumed:  "Let  that  Lady  stand 
forth." 

The  words  were  few,  but  sufficient.  Trembling  in 
every  limb,  the  Round-Faced  Beauty  separated  her 
self  from  her  companions  and  prostrated  herself, 
amid  the  breathless  amazement  of  the  Blossoms  of 
the  Palace.  He  looked  down  upon  her  as  she  knelt, 
pale  as  a  lady  carved  in  ivory,  but  lovely  as  the  lotus 
of  Chang-su.  He  turned  to  the  August  Aunt.  "Prin 
cess  of  Han,  my  Imperial  Aunt,  I  would  speak  with 
this  lady  alone." 

Decorum  itself  and  the  custom  of  Palaces  could 
not  conceal  the  indignation  of  the  August  Aunt  as 
she  rose  and  retired,  driving  the  ladies  before  her 
as  a  shepherd  drives  his  sheep. 

The  Hall  of  Tranquil  Longevity  being  now  empty, 
the  Jade  Emperor  extended  his  hand  and  beckoned 
the  Round-Faced  Beauty  to  approach.  This  she  did, 
hanging  her  head  like  a  flower  surcharged  with  dew 


THE  ROUND-FACED  BEAUTY         311 

and  swaying  gracefully  as  a  wind-bell,  and  knelt  on 
the  lowest  step  of  the  Seat  of  State. 

"Loveliest  One,"  said  the  Emperor,  "I  have  read 
your  composition.  I  would  know  the  truth.  Did 
any  aid  you  as  you  spoke  it?  Was  it  the  thought  of 
your  own  heart?" 

"None  aided,  Divine,"  said  she,  almost  fainting 
with  fear.  "It  was  indeed  the  thought  of  this  illiter 
ate  slave,  consumed  with  an  unwarranted  but  un 
controllable  passion." 

"And  have  you  in  truth  desired  to  see  your  Lord?" 

"As  a  prisoner  in  a  dungeon  desires  the  light,  so 
was  it  with  this  low  person." 

"And  having  seen?" 

"Augustness,  the  dull  eyes  of  this  slave  are  blinded 
with  beauty." 

She  laid  her  head  before  his  feet. 

"Yet  you  have  depicted,  not  the  ideal  Man,  but  the 
Ideal  Woman.  This  was  not  the  Celestial  command. 
How  was  this?" 

"Because,  0  versatile  and  auspicious  Emperor,  the 
blind  cannot  behold  the  sunlight,  and  it  is  only  the 
Ideal  Woman  who  is  worthy  to  comprehend  and  wor 
ship  the  Ideal  Man.  For  this  alone  is  she  created." 

A  smile  began  to  illuminate  the  Imperial  Coun 
tenance.  "And  how,  0  Round-Faced  Beauty,  did 
you  evade  the  vigilance  of  the  August  Aunt?" 

She  hung  her  head  lower,  speaking  almost  in  a 


312         THE  ROUND-FACED  BEAUTY 

whisper.  "With  her  one  pearl  did  this  person  buy 
the  secrecy  of  the  writer;  and  when  the  August  Aunt 
slept,  did  I  conceal  the  paper  in  her  sleeve  with  the 
rest,  and  her  own  Imperial  hand  gave  it  to  the  en 
graver  of  ivory." 

She  veiled  her  face  with  two  jade-white  hands  that 
trembled  excessively.  On  hearing  this  statement  the 
Celestial  Emperor  broke  at  once  into  a  very  great 
laughter,  and  he  laughed  loud  and  long  as  a  tiller  of 
wheat.  The  Round-Faced  Beauty  heard  it  demurely 
until,  catching  the  Imperial  eye,  decorum  was  forgot 
ten  and  she  too  laughed  uncontrollably.  So  they 
continued,  and  finally  the  Emperor  leaned  back,  dry 
ing  the  tears  in  his  eyes  with  his  august  sleeve,  and 
the  lady,  resuming  her  gravity,  hid  her  face  in  her 
hands,  yet  regarded  him  through  her  fingers. 

When  the  August  Aunt  returned  at  the  end  of  an 
hour  with  the  ladies,  surrounded  by  the  attendants 
with  their  instruments  of  music,  the  Round-Faced 
Beauty  was  seated  in  the  chair  that  she  herself  had  oc 
cupied,  and  on  the  whiteness  of  her  brow  was  hung 
the  chain  of  pearls,  which  had  formed  the  frontal  of 
the  Cap  of  the  Emperor. 

It  is  recorded  that,  advancing  from  honour  to  hon 
our,  the  Round-Faced  Beauty  was  eventually  chosen 
Empress  and  became  the  mother  of  the  Imperial 
Prince.  The  celestial  purity  of  her  mind  and  the  ab 
sence  of  all  flaws  of  jealousy  and  anger  warranted  this 


THE  ROUND-FACED  BEAUTY          313 

distinction.  But  it  is  also  recorded  that,  after  her 
elevation,  no  other  lady  was  ever  exalted  in  the  Im 
perial  favour  or  received  the  slightest  notice  from  the 
Emperor.  For  the  Empress,  now  well  acquainted 
with  the  Ideal  Man,  judged  it  better  that  his  expe 
riences  of  the  Ideal  Woman  should  be  drawn  from 
herself  alone.  And  as  she  decreed,  so  it  was  done. 
Doubtless  Her  Majesty  did  well. 

It  is  known  that  the  Emperor  departed  to  the  An 
cestral  Spirits  at  an  early  age,  seeking,  as  the  August 
Aunt  observed,  that  repose  which  on  earth  could  never 
more  be  his.  But  no  one  has  asserted  that  this  lady's 
disposition  was  free  from  the  ordinary  blemishes  of 
humanity. 

As  for  the  Celestial  Empress  (who  survives  in  his 
tory  as  one  of  the  most  astute  rulers  who  ever  adorned 
the  Dragon  Throne),  she  continued  to  rule  her  son 
and  the  Empire,  surrounded  by  the  respectful  ad 
miration  of  all. 


A     000855273     9 


CENTRAL  UNIVERSITY  LIBRARY 
University  of  California,  San  Diego 

DATE  DUE 


C139 


UCSD  Libr. 


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